Embers of Loyalty
by Aria Gray
Summary: Even Dumbledore makes mistakes.  The Horcrux in Harry didn't die that night, and now Voldemort is alive in Harry.  Can Harry learn to control the evil within?  Or will a new Dark Lord emerge?
1. Prologue: Destiny's Toll

**A/N: **This is based on a one shot that I wrote, "Destiny's Toll." I refuse to call this a sequel because I stubbornly want that to remain a one shot without a clear ending. Unfortunately, it had a clear ending in my mind so I had to write it. If you've read that before, just pretend that it ended where it did and this is an entirely different story : )

This prologue is a condensed version of my one shot, "Destiny's Toll." It's not necessary to read if you've read that. (Oh, and this is canon except that it ignores the DH epilogue and subsequent JKR interviews.)

* * *

A small owl swooped down in through the collapsed ceiling of the dilapidated barn Harry was staying in. He recognized it immediately as belonging to Hermione. Hesitating for only a moment, he took the letter from its leg and began to read. 

_Harry,_

_Happy Birthday. I hope this reaches you in time. I'm sorry I haven't written in so long, but I've been really busy with George's wedding and Fleur's pregnancy and work and I haven't had time to write._

_No, that's not true. In fact, I've sat down every night to write you a letter but haven't been able to. The words just seem so empty and hollow. I hate just writing about our lives and asking if you're okay. What I really want to do is send you a howler telling you how stupid you're being and begging you to come home._

_How could you leave like this? How could you just leave without a word, without even telling us you were okay? We wouldn't even know if you were alive or dead if it weren't for Molly's clock. At first I just thought you needed time, and that you'd be back, but it's been five years. Enough is enough. It's not fair to us Harry. I've spent all this time writing to you without telling you how much you've hurt us because I didn't want you to feel guilty, but YOU SHOULD! We stuck by you, Ron and I, through it all and we deserve better than this! We deserve to at least know that you're alright._

_Did you know that Molly still leaves a chair empty for you at the table every time we eat dinner? Did you know that Ron still buys you Christmas gifts every year? Did you know that Ginny still hasn't had another boyfriend and that I don't remember the last time I heard her laugh? Did you know that Percy rejoined the Ministry and got transferred to the department that would best situate him to find you? Did you know that I haven't slept for more than three hours at a time since you left and that I have nightmares every night about you being hurt, hungry, lonely and lost somewhere?_

_I don't know what happened to make you leave, Harry, and I don't care. Whatever it was, I'm sure it's not as bad as you think. Let us help you. I know we can. Just come home, Harry. Just come home and let us help you. Please, Harry. Just come home._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

Harry put the letter down and wiped a tear from his cheek. This letter was so very different from the ones she had sent before. They were usually chatty letters about everything that was going on at home, and then a brief sentence or two asking if he was okay and telling him he was always welcome home at the Burrow. He had come to think that Hermione and the others didn't really care that he was gone.

Five years, she had said. Had it really been that long? He didn't bother counting the days. Time didn't matter to him out here wandering the world. But five years? That would mean he was twenty three, or turning twenty three soon judging by Hermione's birthday wish. He hadn't even realized that his birthday was approaching.

For one, fleeting moment he thought about stepping into the warm Burrow and into the hugs of the family that lived there, but it passed as quickly as it had come. Hermione had said that they could help him, but no one could help him. Not now. She wrote that she didn't care what had happened, but she wouldn't have written that if she knew. He could never go back there, never.

He awoke a few hours later in the dark, feeling uneasy. There was someone nearby. He could hear footsteps crunching outside the barn. As quietly as he could, he shrank back into a corner, out of the moonlight that gently streamed in through the caved in roof, wishing he could just Disapparate.

_Maybe it's just an angry farmer, _he thought, knowing he was wrong. He could sense a magical presence. It had been so long since he had lived with wizards that he could now feel traces of magic when it was near. His body seemed to reach out for it, trying to take some of it for his own. He wondered vaguely whether it was a friend or foe that had finally found him after all these years, and found himself hoping it was an enemy. They might at least be able to succeed where he had failed. They might be able to do what had to be done. They might be able to kill him.

The door of the barn flew open and Harry found himself blinded by intense wand light.

"Harry," a familiar voice gasped, and Harry raised his hand to shield his eyes, squinting to make out the face of the wizard who stood before him. The wizard lowered his wand and Harry was surprised to see Bill Weasley standing there, alone. Bill was the last person Harry expected to finally track him down.

"Hello, Bill," Harry rasped. He wasn't used to talking. Harry stood up, grabbed his rucksack and walked toward the door, knowing he wouldn't get very far.

Bill grabbed his arm forcefully, hurting Harry with the strength of his grip.

"You're not going anywhere," he growled. His scarred face looked menacing in the pale light emanating from the moon and his wand.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, getting angry, "Please just go and leave me alone."

"I've spent five years tracking you down, Harry. Do you really think I'm going to just leave you here now that I've found you?" His voice was bitter and Harry felt a stab of guilt through his sickening dread at having finally been found, but the anger seemed to ebb from Bill's voice as he took in Harry's appearance and spoke again. "Merlin, Harry, you look like Death. Come on, we're going back to the Burrow."

Harry realized just in time that Bill was about to try to Apparate with him and shouted out for him to wait.

"You're not getting out of this, Harry. We're going back."

"Bill," Harry hesitated, but he'd have to tell the truth, "If you try to side-along Apparate with me, you'll hurt me or even kill me."

"Don't be ridiculous," Bill said, gripping his arm even tighter, "I'm not falling for that. You actually expect me to believe you don't have your wand with you?"

"I have it on me," Harry answered, almost wishing that had been the case, "but it doesn't do me any good. Not anymore."

Bill stared into Harry's eyes, apparently trying to find a lie in them.

"Why?" he asked suspiciously.

Harry didn't answer at first, but just looked down at the ground, not meeting Bill's eyes.

Finally, he swallowed his pride and admitted to himself that he'd have to answer truthfully.

"I haven't done a spell in five years, Bill," he said slowly, still not looking at him, "I lost my magic."

Bill quickly drew in his breath and dropped Harry's arm.

"No," he whispered.

"Do you really think I'd still be standing here if it wasn't true?"

Bill seemed to notice for the first time that he wasn't still holding Harry, and made to grab his arm again, but didn't. He'd been convinced.

"But how?" Bill asked, seemingly in awe.

Harry sighed and sat down on the ground, rubbing his scar. He was trying to figure out how much he could tell Bill to keep him from bringing him home, without revealing all.

Bill peered down at Harry sadly, taking in his sickly, dejected appearance and seemed to decide that his questioning could wait. He conjured a fire next to Harry and two comfortable looking chairs for them to sit in. He then transfigured a rock into a tea kettle and filled it with water from his wand.

"I need to get you some food," he said, almost angrily, "Can I trust you to stay here?"

Harry didn't answer. The prospect of good food was almost enough to get him to stay, but he knew he wouldn't and despite everything, he couldn't bring himself to lie.

Bill sighed and said "Sorry," as he put up an invisible barrier around where Harry sat. "I'll only be a minute," he said before Disapparating. Harry didn't move the whole time Bill was gone.

Bill was true to his word and reappeared minutes later, removing the barrier around Harry and handing him a bag filled with hamburgers.

"Sorry it's not more nourishing, but I didn't want to take too much time."

Harry devoured the hamburgers without a word. It had been months since he had eaten anything more than bread.

He regretted it though as soon as he had finished. Apparently his stomach wasn't used to that kind of food, or that much food anymore. He ran over to the corner of the barn and vomited violently. Bill walked over to him sadly a few minutes later and vanished the mess from the ground and Harry's t-shirt.

"Harry," he said quietly, "What's happened to you?"

Harry looked up at Bill's face, which was etched with nothing but kindness. He looked worried, but not pitying. He didn't know what made him decide to tell Bill; he knew he wouldn't have if it had been anyone else, even Ron or Hermione, but something about Bill's presence in Harry's world which had been so empty for so long made him want to tell him. Bill wasn't pestering him about it like Hermione would have done, and he wasn't giving him the angry or pitying look that Ron would have. He had been close enough to Harry to be familiar, but not so close to be too overly concerned.

Harry made up his mind to tell Bill, partially because he wanted to, partially because he knew Bill would make him eventually anyway, and partially because he hoped it would keep Bill from dragging him back to England.

He walked back to the chairs Bill had conjured and poured some tea. It warmed him instantly and soothed his scratchy throat.

"How did you find me?" he asked, not quite ready to talk.

"I put a trace on Hermione's owl without telling her. I've been begging her to let me do it for years but she wouldn't let me. She said it wouldn't be fair to you."

"But she said she had been looking for me," Harry said, confused.

"She was, and she used every means available to her except that. She said she wouldn't take advantage of the only link she had left with you."

Harry looked away and stared into the fire, letting the orange flames burn into his eyes. He was starting to feel guilty again but no, this was the only way. He had left for their protection, not his.

"Harry…" Bill said timidly, and Harry's eyes snapped back up at him.

"Fine," he said, "I'll tell you everything if you promise not to force me back there against my will."

Bill considered him for a minute. "Is it really that bad?"

Harry nodded.

"Hermione thinks you're just blowing things out of proportion," Bill said, almost to himself, "She thinks you left because you feel guilty about things that weren't your fault. But something else happened, didn't it?" He paused, "Something after the Battle at Hogwarts? Something more?"

Harry nodded, still staring into the fire.

Bill took a deep breath. "Okay. I promise not to take you against your will, as long as you promise you're not just feeling guilty over things that weren't your fault."

"I'm not," Harry said emphatically, and Bill nodded.

Harry thought about where to begin.

He had first felt it the morning after the final battle. He had been sleeping in his old four poster bed in Gryffindor Tower when Ginny woke him with a soft kiss on the forehead.

He felt disgust and hatred at the touch of her lips.

The thought passed through his head so quickly that he barely registered it, and dismissed it as nothing more than confusion upon waking.

He pulled her down into the bed with him and wrapped his arms tightly around her, not wanting to let her go. She just giggled.

"Harry, Mum's here. She told me to wake you. She might come up."

Harry didn't care. After everything that had happened, he thought he could handle the wrath of Molly Weasley. Then again, he hadn't ever experienced it to its full extent.

The two teenagers who had never really been teenagers lay together in each other's arms, just enjoying the feeling of finally being at peace. There was so much to say that neither of them could say a word, but it didn't matter. They had all the time in the world…

After what felt like too short a time, they heard footsteps outside the dormitory and Harry reluctantly let go of Ginny. She didn't move but just stayed nestled in his chest.

"Oi," Ron said, coming through the door and grinning, "Get off my sister."

_Filthy Blood-traitor, _Harry felt himself think, and shook his head. Where had that come from?

Without raising her head, Ginny surreptitiously pulled her wand from her robes and pointed it at her brother. He didn't notice that his hair turned green. Harry stifled a laugh.

"Seriously, though," Ron said, sobering, "Mum's not doing so well. You don't want to set her off today."

Harry's mood became somber and he felt Ginny tense at his side. Fred. How could he have forgotten about Fred?

Ron turned around and walked back down the stairs. Harry just managed to turn his hair back to its normal red before he disappeared from view. Any other day it would have been funny, but not today.

Ginny slowly extricated herself from their combined mess of limbs and looked at him a little sadly.

"Someday soon," she said softly, and his heart broke at the hardened look in her eyes, "We'll have our chance."

Without another word she turned and left him to get dressed.

Harry emerged into the Gryffindor common room a few minutes later to find the whole Weasley family gathered around the fire. Nearly the whole Weasley family anyway.

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley said, breaking away from the group and enveloping him in a tight, warm hug, "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, Mrs. Weasley," he said, resisting the urge to pull away, not knowing why he wanted to.

She stepped back and held him at arm's length, surveying him through watery, bloodshot eyes. They quickly narrowed. "No one bothered to heal you?" she exclaimed, disbelievingly, and cast an angry look at Hermione. Hermione raised her arms and gave Mrs. Weasley's back a look that seemed to say "Why is it my fault?"

Harry grinned. Mrs. Weasley had apparently officially accepted Hermione into the folds of the family if she was scolding her for not taking care of her boys.

Mrs. Weasley started pointing her wand at various points on his face and arms, healing a few particularly nasty cuts and some of the burns he had gotten at Gringotts that he had missed healing himself. It took her a while and he hadn't realized how hurt he'd been.

She lifted his t-shirt over his head as if he were a small child who couldn't do it himself and he heard everyone in the room gasp.

"What?" he asked bemused.

They were all staring at his chest and he looked down and gasped himself.

Across his heart stretched a bruise so black it looked as though the skin there had died. It looked very different from the injury Dumbledore had gotten when he had destroyed the ring Horcrux, which Harry was relieved to note, but it stretched over half his chest.

"What happened?" Molly asked, her tears brimming and then spilling out onto her cheeks.

"It's nothing, Mrs. Weasley," he answered, "It's just a bruise. That's where the killing curse hit me."

A renewed gasp ran through the crowd which was thankfully limited to the Weasleys and Hermione. Apparently the Fat Lady had been very selective of who she had let in while he slept.

"You were…You were hit by the killing curse?" George stuttered, and Harry realized that he hadn't told anyone besides Ron and Hermione what had happened in the forest.

"Yeah," Harry answered, not meeting anyone's eyes, "Please don't let it get out." They all agreed and Harry looked at Ron. They exchanged silent words and Ron launched into the story that Harry had told him the night before. Harry didn't think he could bear to tell it again. The eyes of everyone in the room were riveted on Ron as he spoke, but Ginny was staring at Harry. He could tell she was upset that he hadn't told her this part of his story himself, and he tried to avoid her gaze.

No one spoke for a few minutes when Ron finished, and to Harry's surprise, it was Percy who broke the silence.

"You git!" he shouted, "What the hell were you thinking, trying to let him kill you? We would have kept fighting anyway."

"Percy," Mr. Weasley scolded, but George came to his defense.

"He's right Dad. You're mad Harry. You can't keep letting people kill you so that we'll be safe."

The ridiculousness of this statement made Harry snort with laughter against his will. How many people in their life would ever hear a statement like that? A look from Mrs. Weasley quickly quelled his laughter, however. She looked livid.

"How dare you," she said, with her eyes narrowed. Harry recoiled a bit at the tone in her voice.

"If we had lost you," she sputtered, unable to form her words properly, "If you had…If you," she broke in

to uncontrollable sobs at this point and couldn't speak another word. Harry stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, trying his best to comfort her. He knew she was crying as much for her son as she was for him, but he did what he could.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley, I really am," he said quietly, so that only she could hear, "but I survived; I'm still here. And I know…" his voice was barely above a whisper now and he felt himself struggling to keep his own tears back, "I know that Fred isn't, but the rest of us are. And now Voldemort's gone, and no one will ever take another one of your children away from you again."

Her sobs intensified and Harry wondered if he had made it worse, but then he heard her softly whisper, "Thank you," as she pulled him more tightly toward her.

Mr. Weasley stepped over and took Harry's place hugging Molly, while Hermione came forward to take over where Mrs. Weasley had left of healing him.

"It won't budge," she said after a few minutes of trying to heal the bruise. Mrs. Weasley had begun to compose herself again and stepped over to try her hand at it, but had no success.

"I guess we'll just have to let it heal on its own," she said, blowing her nose, and Harry pulled his filthy shirt back over his head, realizing that he hadn't showered since he had been staying with Bill. Had that really only been three days ago?

He learned that the Weasleys were planning on heading back to the Burrow. He told them he'd meet them there, as he wanted to take a bath before he left. He was looking forward to relaxing in the prefect's bathtub. Ginny offered to stay with him but Mrs. Weasley cast an evil look and she relented.

Twenty minutes later, he was lowering himself into the soapy water, and realizing for the first time how beaten his body was. He definitely felt the effects of the last few days and could feel his muscles screaming at him.

After a few moments he realized how tense he had been as his muscles slowly relaxed. He could feel himself drifting off and felt almost as though he could fall asleep…

"_My Lord," Lucius Malfoy said, coming into the clearing in the Forbidden Forest, "I have killed the blood traitor werewolf and his half blood wife."_

"_Very good, Lucius," Harry said in a very familiar, cold, high pitched voice, "You have succeeded where many have failed." He glanced menacingly at Bellatrix Lestrange, offering a small sneer as she cowered at his gaze. "Don't fret, Bellatrix, there's still work for you yet."_

Harry woke, shaking. Where had that come from? Lucius hadn't even had a wand that night. He couldn't have killed Lupin and Tonks. And worst of all, Harry wasn't even supposed to be having these dreams now that Voldemort was dead.

He rubbed his scar absentmindedly and it was a few minutes before he realized it was prickling. That wasn't supposed to be happening anymore either. Fear momentarily gripped him as he pictured Voldemort striding into the room with his wand raised, but Harry pulled himself back from panic.

It had only been a dream, and his scar hurting was only his imagination. He was a normal person now—as normal as a wizard who had killed a genocidal Dark wizard could be anyway—and his dreams would never be anything more than just dreams again. They would still be unpleasant, but he'd never again be forced to peer into Voldemort's mind.

The next few weeks passed excruciatingly slowly for Harry. He was reluctant to leave the Burrow for fear of being recognized and as a result, spent nearly every moment under Molly's watchful eye. She was dealing with Fred's death better than could have been expected of her, but she had channeled most of her grief into protecting everyone else she felt fell under her care. She did her best not to let any of them out of her sight. As a result, Harry barely got five minutes alone with Ginny. He was longing to hold her and to say all the things he never got a chance to say, but it seemed he would never be alone with her long enough to even kiss her properly.

The dreams hadn't stopped either. He woke nearly every night, sweating, with his scar tingling, having just lived through some scene with Voldemort. They rarely ever repeated and they almost always involved Lucius Malfoy. He wondered if maybe he was cracking up. He started casting Muffliato on Ron every night after he fell asleep to keep him from hearing Harry's distressed sleep.

And then there were the funerals. Harry had wanted to Polyjuice himself before going but Hermione wouldn't let him. She said he couldn't shield himself from the world forever and it would only get harder the longer he waited. He reluctantly admitted that she was probably right. Thankfully, most people were respectful enough to leave him alone.

Lupin and Tonks' funeral was awful, watching the baby Teddy squirm in his grandmother's lap, but Fred's was the worst. Watching the six remaining Weasley men cry had been awful, but seeing Mrs. Weasley's grief move beyond tears was somehow worse. And he kept expecting Fred's coffin to turn orange or start smoking or something. It just didn't seem right for anything where Fred was involved to feel so somber.

It wasn't easy, but Harry got through the funerals surprisingly well. Maybe it just hadn't hit him fully yet, but his heart didn't feel nearly as ripped open as it had before. It was odd, really. He didn't really feel like himself.

On the twelfth day after Voldemort's death, Harry arrived downstairs for breakfast to find the Weasleys looking more downtrodden than usual.

"What's going on?" he asked concerned, as he sat down at the kitchen table.

No one said anything but Hermione pushed that morning's issue of the Daily Prophet to him.

"No," Harry whispered as he read the headline.

"Lucius Malfoy: Not Guilty," read the bold black print. Beneath the headline was a picture of Lucius, standing outside the Ministry with Narcissa and Draco, all three waving out at them. Draco looked uncomfortable but Lucius was wearing an extremely smug grin.

Hatred rose up in Harry like he had never felt before. He didn't think his dreams were real but he had spent the last twelve nights watching Lucius Malfoy kill and torture people, and it had lodged a hatred for the man in his heart so deep he doubted it would ever go away.

Whether the dreams were real or not, Lucius hadn't been innocent, no matter how much money he gave the Ministry.

"How?" he asked, directing his question at Mr. Weasley, "I thought Kingsley was in charge."

"He is," Mr. Weasley answered, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes, "but unfortunately Lucius is still very involved in the pockets of the remaining members of the Wizengamot. He only needed majority and he got it."

Rage engulfed Harry and without a word he stood up and left the kitchen through the back door.

"Where are you going?" Mrs. Weasley called after him.

"For a walk," he answered back, hoping no one would follow.

As soon as he passed through the protective wards that were still in place around the house, he Apparated directly to Wiltshire. He could see Malfoy Manor off in the distance and walked quickly down the narrow road toward it. His mind was racing. After everything, how could Malfoy have gotten off? How? He deserved to rot in Azkaban, and probably worse. How could Kingsley have let this happen?

_He deserves to die_ Harry heard himself think. It felt as though someone else had whispered it in his ear, but he agreed with the sentiment all the same. He reached the wrought-iron gates that interrupted the yew hedges surrounding the grounds before he started questioning what he was doing. Why was he here?

He hesitated for a moment and then Disapparated back to the Burrow.

He didn't speak to anyone as he walked back through the kitchen and just passed through up into Ron's bedroom, wincing as the door slammed behind him. He suddenly found that his scar was burning.

For two days Harry stayed away from Malfoy Manor. For two days the anger festered inside of him, growing almost to an unbearable pitch. Mrs. Weasley started fawning over him more than usual and Ron and Hermione kept giving him curious looks.

On the third day Harry couldn't take it anymore. This time he Apparated directly to the gates. He was wearing his invisibility cloak and just stood there for hours, looking up at the mansion.

On the fourth day Harry broke past the wards and made it up to the front door before turning back again.

On the fifth day he made it inside the Manor, but the elder Malfoy wasn't there. He did see Narcissa, but didn't make his presence known.

That night, Mr. Weasley pulled him aside.

"Harry," he said without preamble, "You can't let the anger control you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry answered, but Mr. Weasley cut him short.

"You do," he continued, "I can see it in you, but you need to let go. Malfoy will get what he deserves in the end."

"Whatever he gets won't be enough," Harry spat in a voice that barely resembled his own and Mr. Weasley flinched.

"But that's not for us to decide," he said after a moment, and then "Harry, promise me you won't do anything stupid."

Harry didn't answer.

"Harry, I'm saying this not as Ron's dad, but as a man who cares about you enough to be yours. I'm worried about you. Please, can you make me that promise?"

Harry looked into the aging face of Mr. Weasley and felt sorrow grip him.

"I promise, Mr. Weasley," he croaked, and Mr. Weasley looked satisfied. He stood up and patted Harry on the shoulder.

"Oh, and Harry?" he said, standing in the doorway, "Just be thankful I didn't ask you to promise not to touch my daughter." Without another word he left the room smiling, leaving Harry stunned and a little embarrassed.

A full thirty-seven hours passed before Harry broke his promise to Mr. Weasley, and Harry counted every single one of them.

Thirty-seven hours later, Harry arrived at Malfoy Manor again, without having slept, not sure what he was planning. He made it into the house and found Lucius sitting in the large, elaborately decorated dining room by himself, eating a lavish breakfast.

Invisible, Harry slowly circled around him, feeling distant from himself, as though he were watching from above

Five minutes passed as Harry watched him eat, and the anger rose within him. It was pure hatred that he felt and he wanted nothing more than to destroy the innately evil man sitting before him.

Finally, when he could bear it no longer, he removed his cloak.

"Hello, Lucuis," he said darkly, and Lucius jumped.

He recovered himself quickly however and a sneer spread across his face.

"Potter," he said lightly, "How nice of you to join me."

Harry pulled his wand from beneath his cloak and pointed it at Malfoy, who looked incredibly calm considering the fact that he wasn't armed.

"This is from both of us," Harry said, and everything went black.

"That's all you remember?" Bill asked, obviously annoyed. He was literally sitting on the edge of his seat and hanging on Harry's every word.

"Yes," Harry answered, "Until I woke up four hours later in Draco Malfoy's bed."

"What?" Bill exclaimed, disbelievingly, "and you're still alive?"

"I think so," said Harry, without a trace of sarcasm. He didn't like reliving these memories, even after all this time.

"What happened next?" Bill asked a little too eagerly.

"Bill, it's not pretty," Harry said gravely.

"I know, I know," he said, backtracking, "I've just been waiting so long to hear what happened, and I always wondered what happened to Lucius."

"Okay, but just remember what you promised," Harry reminded him.

"I will."

Harry awoke to find the familiar pointed face of Draco Malfoy standing over him, but the expression he wore was completely unfamiliar. He looked demented.

"You're awake," he said. His eyes were wild and his lips were curled into a strange smile.

Harry sat up and looked around desperately for his wand, only to find that it was sitting next to him on a small table. Obviously, if Draco was going to hurt him, he would have taken away his wand.

"What happened?" Harry asked, groggily. He still hadn't come to himself.

"You don't remember?" Draco said, stepping back from him, his eyes growing wider each moment.

"No," Harry said, but then a part of it came back to him, "I was standing next to your father, with my wand drawn and then everything went black.

Draco looked at him for a long time, apparently trying to decide whether he was telling the truth.

"Well, you did it," Draco said simply.

"Did what?" Harry asked, finding his glasses and putting them on his face.

"What you came to do."

Harry understood. Surprisingly, he felt no remorse, no guilt, and no fear.

"Then why haven't you killed me yet?" Harry asked, indifferently.

"Kill you?" Draco said in his trademark drawl, "You saved me the trouble of killing him myself. And I must say you did a wonderful job of making him squeal before he died."

Harry gaped at his childhood enemy. Could this really be happening? Was Draco happy that Harry had killed his beloved father?"

"Don't look so stunned," Draco said, smiling at Harry's shock, "What did you expect? He basically handed me over to the Dark Lord to make up for his own mistakes. He got me into that mess in the first place, and besides, I don't think you were alone when you killed him and Idon't forget my loyalty."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, getting a little suspicious.

Draco chuckled. "I think you should see for yourself."

Draco walked over to a cabinet across the room, and to Harry's surprise, pulled out a Pensieve. Harry had thought they were extremely rare.

Draco set the Pensieve on the surface of his desk and moved his wand to his temple, pulling out a thin silver strand. He lowered it into the Pensieve and swirled it around.

"Well, come on," Draco said, diving into the surface and, throwing all caution to the wind, Harry followed.

He landed in the same dining room that he had left so recently, and saw himself standing behind Lucius, pointing his wand at him, but saw no sign of Draco besides the one who had entered the memory with him.

"I'm watching from behind that tapestry," the Draco standing next to him said, seemingly reading his thoughts.

"This is from both of us," Harry heard himself say, and noticed that his voice sounded cold, and slightly higher than usual. "_Crucio!" _he shouted and Lucius fell from his chair to the floor, writhing in pain.

When Harry finally relented, Lucius began laughing, despite the tears streaming down his smooth, pale face.

"You finally got the hang of that one, I see," he said, with a demented sort of smile.

Harry laughed back at the blonde haired man at his feet. "Why yes Lucius, but you should know what my Cruciatus curse feels like by now." The present day Harry gasped. The voice coming from him no longer even resembled his own. It was no doubt the voice of Lord Voldemort.

Lucius' laughter stopped immediately and he gasped, "My Lord?" His voice was questioning, pleading, and terrified.

"You can call me that if you like," Harry said in his own voice now, "but seeing as you don't have much time left, you might want to reserve that title for God. I think you'd better do what you can to get on his good side before I send you to him."

Lucius cowered and present day Harry could tell he was confused and frightened.

"How?" he whimpered.

"Tut tut," Harry said in Voldemort's voice, "You never did learn to stop questioning me. _Crucio!"_

Lucius' screams were deafening and Harry looked on with horror as he watched his own eyes flitter between green and red. It would have been terrifying if it had been Voldemort doing this through Harry's body, but Harry knew that he was doing it too, of his own free will. He and Voldemort, working together to bring down his enemy, and Voldemort's traitor.

Finally, they relented, and Harry could tell by the color of his eyes that he was in charge.

"Hold out your arm, Lucius," he said, and though his voice was cold, it was his own.

Lucius was reluctant, but obeyed. He knew what was coming.

Harry flicked his wand and the sleeve of Lucius' robe was torn off.

"Would you like the honors?" Harry said, seemingly to no one, but the answer was presumably yes, as his eyes flickered back to red. The red-eyed Harry simply touched the tip of his wand to Lucius' forearm, and the skin started to smoke.

There was more pain in Lucius' scream than Harry had ever heard and he watched as the skin boiled up and gave way to bone, as though acid had been poured on it, completely removing the Dark Mark from his skin.

Harry let Lucius writhe in pain for a while before hitting him again with the Cruciatus curse. Finally, it seemed he had had enough fun.

"I believe I will leave this part to you," red-eyed Harry said, "You have been so kind to let me have my fun."

Harry's eyes shifted back to green and he smiled, dementedly. Though his eyes were back to their original color, Harry didn't recognize them.

"That is very generous," Harry said, before pointing his wand back at Lucius.

The smile never faded from his face as he looked directly into Lucius' eyes and hissed "_Avada Kedavra," _and life left Lucius Malfoy.

Harry watched himself laugh wildly. His eyes slipped from green to red and back again but the color didn't matter. Both of them were laughing with joy. Both of them were thrilled with what they'd done.

And then Harry watched himself suddenly fall to the ground, unconscious. It must have been too much for him.

He watched Draco's form timidly emerge from behind the tapestry a few minutes later, slowly advancing on Harry's still form, stepping over his father's dead body without giving it a second glance.

"Potter?" he asked, "Harry, are you alright?" but Harry remained unconscious and present day Harry watched as Draco took out his wand and began levitating him out of the room.

"I believe that is all that will be of interest," present-day Draco drawled and Harry jumped. He had forgotten he was there.

Harry nodded and then felt himself slam into the floor of Draco's bedroom.

"Did you know he was going to become a part of you?" Draco asked immediately, rising to his feet and helping Harry up, "Did you do it on purpose?"

"No," Harry answered, distractedly, "What did you do with…the body?"

"I took care of it," Draco answered simply.

"I need to get out of here," Harry said, as the full weight of what was happening hit him. He started walking toward the door.

"And where will you go?" Draco said, his eyes still burning with madness, but his voice calm, "Back to Weasley? You think he'll congratulate you on what you've done?"

Harry stopped walking.

"And Granger," Malfoy continued, "I'm sure she'll be pleased. Father never was very kind to her. But then he never could be civil to Mudbloods."

"Don't call her that," Harry hissed and Draco laughed.

"You've lost the right to condemn me, Potter."

Harry didn't answer, but didn't resume walking.

"You can't go back tonight," Draco said after a while, "You look a wreck, they'll know something's up."

There was logic in Draco's words.

"Here," he said, walking over to his wardrobe and pulling out a pair of pajamas, "you can sleep in here. Don't worry about mother. She won't even know you're here."

Without another word, Draco left the room, leaving Harry to his own, horrified thoughts.

The voice first came to Harry while he lay that night in the bed of his childhood enemy, trying to sleep. It wasn't his own voice, and it wasn't Voldemort's, but a hybrid of the two.

_You felt it, didn't you? You felt the power of it. You felt it coursing through you, and it felt incredible._

"No," Harry said to himself, "I didn't feel anything. I don't remember."

_But you do. You remember how it felt as you used the power of our combined magic. You felt alive. You felt unstoppable. You felt as though you could rule…_

"No," Harry said again, a little less forcefully.

_Yes. The world is yours, Harry, if you take it. With our combined power you could rule all. Not just wizards, but Muggles as well. Every corner of this earth could be under your command. I would not take any of the credit. You defeated me. You deserve all. I willingly submit myself to you. You wouldn't even have to destroy your beloved Mudbloods and Blood Traitors. You could be a benevolent leader, ruling them all for their own good. _

"The greater good," Harry whispered, willing the voice to speak again, but then pushed it back down.

"No!" he shouted, jumping out of bed, "No, You're dead. I killed you. Get out of my head!"

Harry grabbed his clothes from off of the floor and ran out of the room, not knowing where he would go. No matter how fast or how far he ran, he couldn't escape the truth of the voice he heard inside his head.

He barely knew where he was going when he found himself standing outside the Burrow, looking in through the kitchen window. Mrs. Weasley was sitting at the table, looking worried, drinking a cup of tea and staring at her clock. He felt a stab of guilt as he realized that she was probably waiting up for him.

He made to go inside until a bobbing head of red hair entered the room, stopping him in his tracks.

Ginny looked adorable in pajamas that Harry recognized as an old pair of Ron's and Harry couldn't help but grin.

"I'm sure he's fine," he heard her tell her mother, but she cast a nervous glance at the clock as well. He wondered why the hand with his face on it wasn't pointing to home.

"I know dear," Mrs. Weasley said wearily, "But I can't help worrying about all my children."

Tears formed in Harry's eyes. She had never called him one of her children before. He made up his mind without thinking about it. He couldn't put these people in danger. He'd have to figure out what was happening to him on his own. He wasn't safe.

Without another thought he Disapparated from the Burrow, not sure if he'd ever return.

"Where did you go?" Bill asked when Harry stopped talking.

Harry noticed that Bill was looking a little uncomfortable, and kept peering intently into his eyes as though he was searching for a red glint.

"I don't really remember that time very well," Harry answered, vaguely. "I think Voldemort started taking control of me, or else I just couldn't cope with the guilt of what I'd done."

"You have no idea what you did?"

"Well, sort of," Harry answered uncomfortably, shifting around in his chair. He didn't want to tell this part of his story, but Bill was looking at him expectantly.

Harry sighed. He had promised to tell everything.

"I wandered around the country for a while, trying to will Voldemort out of my mind, but nothing worked. I was in and out of consciousness, and I kept waking up to find myself in strange places that I didn't remember going to.

"And then, on one of my more lucid days, I happened across an unfortunate newspaper article. It reported the violent deaths of two Muggles in Surrey and it…it sort of jogged my memory a bit."

"No," Bill gasped, and Harry looked away.

"But how?" Bill asked, "How did he survive?"

Harry hesitated again. "Did Ron ever tell you what we were doing while we were on the run?"

Bill nodded, "The Horcruxes, yeah."

"Well," Harry said, "Did he tell you that I was the last, unintentional one?"

Bill nodded again.

"Well, I assumed that when I let Voldemort kill me, the part of his soul attached to mine had been destroyed, but now I don't think it was. I think it was too deeply imbedded and a part of it survived. And then, when I killed Voldemort, the tiny, mangled part of his soul that was left in him couldn't survive on its own, so it latched back on to the part that was left in me."

Bill looked horrified. "But he couldn't control you before, right? He could show you things and could see inside your head, but he couldn't really possess you."

"Yeah," Harry answered, "but the soul that was in me before wasn't the part with his consciousness. Now it is."

Bill shook his head. Without meeting Harry's eyes he said, "Is he still in there with you? Does he still come out?"

"Yes and no," Harry said. "He's still in there but I can control it better now. I can still feel him, and his emotions kind of affect mine, but he never comes to the surface completely."

"So then, you just left that night and you've been wandering around Europe since?"

Harry nodded.

"But then," Bill went on, "How did you lose your magic?"

Harry sighed. "After I found out that I killed the Muggles, I went to the morgue to see their bodies. I had to make sure that it was what I thought."

"And was it?" Bill asked, through gritted teeth.

Harry nodded. "It was a boy that I had gone to primary school with and his mother. He played a nasty trick on me when we were seven. I thought that I had forgotten about it and, honestly, I think I've made enough enemies since that if I had wanted revenge I could have found someone better to take it out on, but I think Voldemort was trying to prove a point. He wanted to turn me against Muggles or something.

"It was awful. Their bodies were mutilated. I…I…" Harry couldn't continue.

"That's okay, Harry," Bill said quietly, "You don't have to describe it."

"Well, I tried to Apparate away after I'd seen them, and I couldn't. I don't know if it was the emotional upheaval of knowing I had done something so cruel and unnecessary, or if it was my subconscious trying to keep me from being able to hurt anyone else, but I haven't been able to do any magic since."

Bill sighed and looked down at the ground. He looked sad and defeated, like he had aged a lot more than five years since Harry had last seen him.

"Why didn't you trust us, Harry?" he asked after a while, "We could have helped you. We would have helped you."

"No one could have helped me," Harry said, staring into the fire, steeling himself for what he knew he needed to say, "But you can now."

Bill looked up at him imploringly. Guilt racked Harry as he peered into Bill's eyes, so wide with grief and the desire to help. But he knew what he had to do.

"Anything, Harry," Bill said softly, "Anything."

"You have to do what I couldn't, Bill." His voice was void of real emotion as he spoke, but it had a soft, pleading tone, "You have to kill me."

Bill stared at him, horrified before standing up and turning away from Harry.

"No," he said, forcefully, "There has to be another way."

"There isn't," Harry said calmly, without leaving his chair, "This is the only way."

Bill was pacing, not looking at Harry, and Harry wanted to go over and shake him, and make him understand.

"Bill, you have to do this. Voldemort is still alive, still killing, and he needs to be stopped."

"I can't," Bill said, his eyes still averted as he frantically paced, "You can't ask me to do this."

"It's the only way," Harry repeated, rising to his feet and moving toward Bill, "I know that this isn't fair. I know you've already sacrificed so much for your family, but I'm asking you to sacrifice just a bit more."

"A bit," Bill said wildly, "A bit? Harry, you're asking me to kill! To kill you! To kill my brother's best friend, my sister's boyfriend, my mother's adopted son, my world's hero! I can't kill anyone. Even during the war I never cast a Killing curse. I can't kill anyone but I especially can't kill you." He was shaking now and Harry was afraid he might see Bill cry for the second time in his life.

"I know you didn't ask for this," Harry said slowly, "You didn't ask to live in a time of war. You didn't ask to have to give up so much to save others. You've already done so much to keep them safe. It should be over. You should be allowed to go on now, and live your life free from all of this. But it's not over yet. While Voldemort still lives, there's a chance that the happiness you've worked for could shatter. You could lose everything again, and I don't want that to happen to you or anyone else. I know what I'm asking you to do is terrible, but it's better than what will happen if you don't."

"No," Bill said more weakly than before, "No."

"Bill," Harry went on, placing a hand on Bill's shoulder, "I'm not asking you to kill me, not really. I'm asking you to do what I couldn't. I'm asking you to end this. I'm asking you to kill Voldemort."

Bill broke away from Harry, and walked a few steps beyond him. His back was turned and he didn't say anything.

Harry sighed and closed his eyes. When he opened them a few moments later, Bill was looking at him, his wand raised and pointed at Harry's chest. He had his chin down, like he was trying not to look, but his eyes were turned upward, meeting Harry's.

"You can do it," Harry said, pleadingly, "Please."

"No," Bill shouted, without lowering his wand. He was crying now.

"You're weak, Bill!" Harry shouted desperately, "You can't even protect your family!"

With a shout almost like a war cry, Bill's eyes became wild.

Harry raised his eyes to the sky and hoped desperately that Bill would have courage, the courage to do what needed to be done.


	2. The Dark Mark Reborn

If this was death it was not how Harry remembered it. His whole body ached; a constant, persistent hum bore into his head, giving him a headache; the surface on which he lay was more than just something on which to be: It was most definitely a bed, and not a very comfortable one at that. All around him, he could hear the soft murmur of voices, some of them familiar. He knew that opening his eyes was inevitable, but he was determined to put it off as long as possible. As long as he kept them closed, he could still acknowledge the possibility that Bill had had the courage to do what Harry asked of him; that he had killed him.

But no, Bill's voice suddenly broke through the murmurs and he could make it out clearly. Bill was most definitely not dead, which meant that Harry was most likely still alive. Dread washed over him—what would happen to him now?

"He's not right, Mum," Harry heard Bill say quietly, "You should have heard him talking. He thinks Voldemort has been possessing him. He thinks Voldemort made him do those awful things."

No, this couldn't be. Bill thought he was crazy? He thought he was making it up? He had trusted Bill and now not only had he failed to kill Harry, he was telling everyone Harry was mad.

Harry heard a soft sob somewhere to his right and recognized it as belonging to Hermione. He dreaded seeing her after all this time, and all that he had done, but at least she would believe him. Slowly he opened his eyes. The voices around his bed immediately stopped. He struggled to make out the blurry figures standing around him.

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley said quietly, coming into focus as she came nearer to him, "How are you feeling?"

"Where am I?" he asked, ignoring her question.

"St. Mungo's," he heard Bill say defiantly somewhere to his left, as if challenging Harry to explode on him for going back on his word. He had, after all, promised not to take Harry back to England against his will. Harry didn't disappoint him.

"You promised, Bill," he said, with as much anger in his voice as he could muster. He really did feel as though he had been run over by the Knight Bus.

"I had to," Bill said strongly, but Harry could hear his voice starting to waver, "Harry, you need help."

Harry snorted, "We all do now." He wanted his glasses so he could see who exactly was in the room with him, but when he reached for them, he found his hand could move only a few inches. He squinted toward where his hand lay and anger and incredulity flared up inside him.

"You have me tied down?" he said, disbelievingly.

"We had to, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, gently placing his glasses on his face and running her fingers through his hair, "It's for your own good."

"My own good!" Harry shouted as best he could, "My own good? Do you have any idea how thick you're all being?"

"Harry, calm down," Mr. Weasley said somewhat forcefully from the foot of his bed, "Your name is the only thing keeping you out of Azkaban right now and you don't want to give them a reason to put you there."

"Why not?" he said wildly, "That's probably not a bad idea. At least if I were there you'd all be safe."

"Harry," Mr. Weasley went on, his voice breaking, "I don't think you know how serious this is. You've killed three people. Lucius maybe could have been forgiven, given who you are, but the Muggles? You're looking at life in Azkaban."

"Arthur!" Mrs. Weasley scolded, and then turned back to Harry, "Not that we blame you dear. You've dealt with more in life than anyone could have expected of you."

"But it wasn't me," Harry insisted, "Not really anyway. Didn't Bill tell you? It was Voldemort. He didn't die. He was acting through me." Harry heard Hermione let out another choked sob from beside him but he didn't stop. He knew how crazy he must sound but he had to make them understand.

"Malfoy," he said, "Ask Draco. He saw Voldemort come out in me."

"We did ask him, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said, "He said he never saw anything."

"Of course he'd say that," Harry explained, "He'd be an accomplice. He took care of Lucius' body."

"No, Harry, you did," Hermione said weakly, coming into his field of vision. Her face and eyes were red from crying. She looked as though much more than five years had passed since the last time he saw her.

"We found your wand," she said, her voice was flat and clipped and she was obviously trying to keep her composure, "We did Priori Incantatem. You tortured him. You killed him. And then you transfigured him into a log and lit him on fire."

Harry stared at her.

"No," he said at last, "Draco had my wand. I was unconscious. He must have done it."

Hermione's sobs renewed and she couldn't speak. Bill took over for her.

"We did Legilimency on him, Harry," he said, "he's telling the truth."

"He's a skilled Occlumens," Harry countered desperately, "Bellatrix taught him."

No one spoke and they wouldn't look him in the eye.

"Hermione," he pleaded, forcing her to look at him, "You believe me. You have to." Of course she would believe him, and Ron too. They were always there for him, no matter what. They had always trusted him and been at his side through everything.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she choked out, and Harry's heart dropped, "I can't." Ron stepped out of the shadows and put an arm around her shaking form.

"Ron?" he whispered, "Please." He was losing hope. Ron just shook his head.

Harry growled in frustration, "Why is this so hard to believe? You're all acting like Muggles, you are! Or Fudge! You had no trouble believing I was a Horcrux before. Why now?"

"It's just not possible," Hermione said, "Harry, think about it. Voldemort couldn't control you before. He could show you things, and you could see into his thoughts, but he couldn't actually control you."

"I only had a tiny portion of the soul he had left in me then," Harry explained, "Now it's all there. We destroyed the six pieces inside the Horcruxes, and the last bit that was in his body latched on to the bit inside me. That was the part with his consciousness. He doesn't have his own body to control now, only mine. It's sort of like when he was in Quirrel, but different. All that's left of Voldemort is inside of me. That means all you have to do to get rid of him for good is kill me."

No one spoke.

"Ginny," he said after a moment, "Where's Ginny? She'll believe me."

"She's not here," Ron said, almost accusingly, "She didn't come."

Harry's heart sank. Ginny had been his last hope.

"Fine," Harry said finally, "Fine. Keep me locked away here. It's probably the safest thing next to death anyway."

"We're not keeping you locked away," Mr. Weasley said, "We're trying to help you. And then, when you're better, we'll get you out of here."

Harry snorted and didn't respond. He was too angry to speak.

"Harry," Hermione said tentatively and he didn't look at her.

"Leave, all of you, now," he said quietly but with force. He didn't want to look at any of them.

"Harry," Hermione said again, pleadingly.

"Now!" he shouted and they all jumped.

"Come on," Mr. Weasley said weakly, taking Mrs. Weasley by the shoulder and leading her away from Harry's bed and out of the room. Bill followed but Ron and Hermione lingered for a moment.

"We want to help you, mate," Ron said and Harry looked at him with what must have been a terrifying expression because Ron immediately turned away, leading Hermione by the hand, and the two left Harry alone, tied to his bed in St. Mungo's.

_"And you trusted them," _a cold voice whispered in Harry's head, hours later, as he lay awake in bed, _"You trusted them and they betrayed you."_

"No," Harry whispered aloud, trying to force the voice back down, "I've learned to control you. Get out of my head."

The voice laughed a mirthless, high pitched laugh. _"To control me? You can't control me, Harry Potter. It is I who controls you now."_

"No," Harry said again, but the voice didn't relent.

_"Still you resist me. Why? They have betrayed you. How quickly they forget. 'We're there for you, Harry,' they said, 'We're with you no matter what.' They deserve vengeance, vengeance I can help you achieve. Do not deny me, Harry. You know how it feels to embrace the hatred, to embrace our combined power. Your body longs for it, as does your mind. You crave the feeling. Why resist? Everyone you trusted has betrayed you. None are loyal. I can help you find new friends, loyal friends, who won't hold you prisoner and leave you to rot. Together, we can achieve power. We can achieve greatness. We can achieve control."_

Harry tried desperately to block the voice the way he had taught himself to do, but it persisted. He was powerless against it. The shock of having not been believed; the fact that his friends had abandoned him: It was all too much. After five years of struggling to survive, of fighting to keep control of himself, of avoiding the temptation of submission, all to protect the people he thought loved him, they had abandoned him. He couldn't do it anymore. It was just too hard. He felt a tear slide slowly down his face as he realized he had finally lost control.

"Hello, Harry," a cheerful witch in lime green robes said, entering his room, "My name is Matilda, and I've come to help you get your magic back." Her voice was kind but condescending, as if she were talking to a small child. Harry looked away from her and didn't speak.

"Come on, now," she said, magically undoing the bonds around his wrists and helping him sit up, "Don't be shy."

The voice in Harry's head growled.

"I can sit up myself, thanks," he snapped. She didn't back away.

"We're going to work on breathing exercises before we begin," she said as though he hadn't spoken, "I want you to try to breathe in deeply, as slowly as you can, and then count to three before exhaling." Harry just stared at her. She started demonstrating as though he didn't understand. Harry wondered if she'd still wear that infuriating smile if he cast the Cruciatus curse on her.

"Don't feel like breathing today?" she said after a while, "That's okay. Why don't we just try talking instead."

Pictures and thoughts suddenly appeared in his head that he had never had. He recognized the healer from the images and realized with a jolt that he was seeing insider her mind with very little effort. A benefit of having Lord Voldemort inside him, he assumed.

"Yeah, we can talk," Harry said after a moment, "Let's talk about your father."

Her smile faltered, but she regained herself quickly. "No, Harry, let's try talking about you, if you don't mind. I understand you're feeling a little guilty about everything that happened during the war?"

"Not really," Harry said indifferently, "I'd really rather talk about you. I'm curious as to why your father left when you were seven. Was it because he didn't love you? Because that's what it seems like to me."

The smile vanished from her face and Harry felt a strange satisfaction from it. A small part of him felt a little bad, but he suppressed that particular emotion quickly.

"I'm not sure why he left," she said and he had to give it to her, she was definitely a professional, "But that's not why I'm here. I'm here to talk about you. Tell me, do you ever feel lonely even when you're in a crowded room? Like no one understands you?"

Harry snorted derisively. "Can't say that I do, but then I always have company." For just a split second he let Voldemort out of the little space in his mind where he kept him and knew that his eyes had gleamed red. The witch recoiled from him.

"Maybe I'm not so mad after all, right?" Harry laughed.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the witch lied. Apparently she forgot that he could see into her thoughts. She was currently terrified and trying to convince herself that she hadn't just seen what she had.

"No, no, of course not," Harry said in mock despair, "No one understands me."

The witch glared at him. This was too easy.

She stepped back toward him and used her wand to retie the ropes around his wrists.

"Oh, are we done?" Harry asked in feigned disappointment, "I was just starting to feel like I could really open up to you."

She leaned over him as though she were going to adjust his pillows, but just looked intently in his eyes. Her face and voice were calm, but he could see her overpowering anger.

"I don't care if you're everyone's hero, Harry Potter," she said, "One word from me and you go straight to Azkaban. Don't mess with me, do you understand?"

Harry smiled at her. It was cute, really, she actually thought she had won.

Still smiling he let his eyes flash red again and she quickly straightened up and left the room.

Bill came to see him later that day. He told him that the others had wanted to come back, but Bill had asked them not to. Harry was no longer attempting to convince Bill that what he had said was true, and knew it would be in his best interest to play his cards a bit differently.

"I'm sorry I had to do this," he told Harry, "But I really do feel that I had to. I hope you'll understand someday, even if you can't forgive me."

"I understand, Bill," he said with a look of sad appreciation, "I know you're just doing what you think is best."

Bill seemed disbelieving but a little bolstered.

"Good," he said a bit awkwardly.

"Do think you could let me have my wand?" Harry asked, shaping his expression into an innocent, pitiful form, "The healer this morning was talking about helping me get my magic back. I want to see if maybe I can."

"I don't think that's such a good idea yet," Bill said, hesitating, "I'm sure she'll let you have it when she thinks you're ready."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Harry agreed, not wanting to give himself away.

"Look, Harry," Bill said after a few minutes of awkward silence, "We're not abandoning you here. We're not giving up. We're going to help you get through this. You're still a part of our family."

Harry had to fight back laughter.

"I know, Bill," Harry said, still morphing his expression into one of pitiful innocence. Harry began asking Bill about his friends' lives, feigning interest in their day to day activities, hoping to convince Bill that he was truly repentant. After about an hour, he dismissed Bill, saying that he wanted to get some sleep.

"Just remember what I said," Bill said before walking to the door, "We're here for you."

"I know, Bill," Harry answered, smiling, "I know."

Harry awoke knowing someone was in his room, though he couldn't see anyone. He could sense them. He squinted into the pale, moonlit room, struggling to make out a human form, but it appeared he was completely alone.

"Who's there?" he asked, not altogether frightened.

For a moment, nothing happened, and then Draco Malfoy was sitting on the window sill, holding Harry's own invisibility cloak, looking out into the night.

"Malfoy," he said conversationally.

"Hello, Potter," Malfoy answered still not looking at him. He could have asked why Draco had lied to his friends about Voldemort's role in Lucius' murder, but didn't. It didn't matter anymore.

"Why have you come?" he asked.

Malfoy just sighed and said, seemingly to himself, "Why did it have to be Potter?"

Harry smiled. He knew why Draco had come. He said nothing and waited for Draco to finish his internal argument.

Finally, Draco stood and walked toward Harry's bed. He pulled out his wand and with a single, silent flick, removed the ropes binding Harry. Harry sat up, rubbing his wrists. Draco was looking at him, he realized, searching his features as though looking for something.

Harry grinned. "Thank you, Draco," he said, and then let his eyes flash red. Draco recoiled a bit but recovered quickly and smiled back.

"I thought so," he said. Without any more hesitation, he pulled Harry's wand from out of his robes and handed it to him.

Harry took it and pointed it at his clothes. The idea that he still wouldn't be able to perform magic was laughable. In a moment, his hospital gown had transformed into robes. He was pleased.

"I thought, Draco," he said, getting out of his bed, "That you had maybe given up on the cause. I know you were hesitant toward the end of the war. You feared me. At times you loathed me."

"Forgive me," Draco said, averting his eyes, "I was young, and confused. I never doubted _you_, My Lord. I only ever doubted myself."

"No matter," Harry said, "I am aware that your loyalty never wavered, only your ability to perform the tasks I asked of you. May I assume that will never happen again?"

"Yes, My Lord," he said and all the youthful eagerness that he had once had was gone was from his voice, "I am nothing if not loyal to you and the cause. I am your servant."

Harry nodded but said, "That's enough of this 'My Lord' business. You will not call me by such a name until you have learned exactly whom you are serving. I will have no misguided loyalty."

"Who I'm serving?" Draco said, a bit discomfited, "I thought…I thought…"

"You thought correctly, Draco," Harry said, "But Lord Voldemort is not your only Master. Harry Potter has not been completely banished from this body. Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort have merged into one being, one mind, and one soul. You do not merely serve Lord Voldemort, but Harry Potter at well."

Draco smiled, looking relieved. "Yes, My Lord," he answered simply. It was the only answer Harry required.

"Hold out your arm," Harry commanded, and Draco obeyed, lifting his sleeve.

The Dark Mark stood out vividly on Draco's pale, thin arm. Harry smiled before tapping it with his wand. The skull and snake remained, as Harry intended, but the mark had been slightly altered. The serpent still coiled out of the skull's mouth, but it now coiled around another, jagged shape. The serpent now coiled around a bolt of lightning.


	3. Opposing Forces

A loud crack broke the calm night air and Hermione Granger spun around, her wand drawn, ready to fight.

"Watch it, Hermione," a tall red haired man said as he threw himself flat on the ground to avoid the curse that soared over his head. Hermione didn't lower her wand.

"What did I do to you when I found out you weren't going back to Hogwarts?" she said shrewdly, her wand unwavering on her target.

"Come on, Hermione," he said, "Does that really have to be our security question?"

"Answer or I'll turn your head into a pumpkin."

Ron sighed, slowly climbing to his feet. "You turned my robes transparent for a whole day so that only I could see them and I didn't know why everyone was laughing at me."

Satisfied, Hermione lowered her wand and helped Ron to his feet, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Sorry," she whispered. "You know we have to be careful."

"I know," Ron said as the two began walking again with their wands out. "Any news on…?"

"Not here," Hermione hissed. "We'll talk about it when we get to the meeting."

After walking for about five minutes in silence, Hermione began whispering counterspells to break through the protection surrounding their destination. The tall, gray shingled building loomed ominously against the darkening night sky and Hermione suppressed a shiver. They didn't break stride as they approached the door of the headquarters of the newly reinstated Order of the Phoenix.

Ron raised his wand and tapped the door three times. It swung slowly open emitting an eerie creaking noise, and completing the aura of desolate abandonment that the house was exuding.

The foreboding din broke immediately however as they stepped into the warm, brightly lit entryway and were immediately engulfed in one of Molly Weasley's famous hugs.

Hermione's face was pressed uncomfortably into Molly's right shoulder, and judging by the grunts coming from Ron, he was in the same predicament on her left.

"I was so worried," Molly said with a watery voice. Molly was not dealing well with the new developments in their world and Hermione couldn't blame her. She had so much to lose during the war and spent every moment worrying about her children only to lose one so close to the end. After the war, her reprieve was short lived as, in her mind, she lost a second child with Harry's disappearance. Now, she was again possibly facing a war and the threat of her family's destruction and they were just as much in danger, if not more, than they had been the last time. She had lived through two wars and just barely managed to keep her family safe through both of them. It was too much to ask of her to risk their lives again, but here she was, fighting.

"It's okay, mum," Ron said extracting himself from her fierce grip with difficulty. "We know how to defend ourselves."

Molly took a deep breath and released Hermione, who hadn't yet managed to free herself.

"Everyone's in the dining room. We've been waiting for you," she said, assuming a grim look of determination.

Hermione nodded and led the way down the long hall into the meeting. Hermione didn't want to be here—she would have rather been anywhere else, but she at least felt some small consolation in the fact that they weren't in Grimmauld Place. It would have been entirely illogical to hold their meetings there as the house still belonged to Harry and for that matter, the Burrow, Shell Cottage, and every other place connected to the original Order was off limits because Harry knew where they were and might find them. Fortunately for the Order, Harry had never visited Professor McGonagall's house, which was still protected with spells from the last war, some of which had been cast by Dumbledore himself, and where they now found themselves.

They entered into the glowing, fire lit dining room that seemed at odds with the mood of the evening. At least Grimmauld Place had been properly somber, Hermione thought with a trace of bitterness.

She glanced around at the expectant faces seated around the table, their gazes focused on her, and sighed. After the obstinate refusals by the original Order for the younger generation to join their efforts in the first war, it felt strange and surreal to now be the focus of the meeting. She and Ron were now all but the official leaders of the Order. Professor McGonagall filled that role now but in name only. Hermione and Ron were in charge and every one knew it. It was a sad truth that no one wanted to voice aloud, but there was no one better suited than Ron and Hermione. They knew Harry better than anyone, and could anticipate his movements like no one else. And unfortunately for them all, knowing Harry was now integral in their efforts because Harry was now their enemy.

* * *

Harry swept into the lavishly decorated room, his black robes billowing behind him, fully aware of the aura of power and control he was exuding.

The small group huddled around the elaborate table in the center of the room gasped. "My Lord," they said collectively, in hushed tones, standing at his entrance and bowing their heads.

Harry looked around at the group, taking them in. Once the leaders of the Wizarding world, they found themselves now on the fringes of society. Death Eaters and sympathizers of Voldemort who had managed to escape Azkaban had become nothing more than a cankerous nuisance to the Wizarding world as a whole. Those who weren't independently wealthy, or who had lost their fortunes bribing their way out of Azkaban, had been unable to find jobs, forced now to live in a manner to which they were not accustomed. Once pureblood superiors, they were now outcasts. Their once arrogant demeanors now took on a more dejected appearance. They had been eager to join Harry; eager for a chance to win back their old position in life; eager for revenge.

"You may sit," Harry said, taking his own place at the head of the table. They immediately obeyed, though few would meet his eyes.

* * *

Hermione removed her cloak and slung it over the back of her chair before sitting down. Stalling, she poured herself a cup of tea from the kettle on the table and took a long sip, sizing up the group sitting around her.

Reforming the Order had been more difficult than Hermione had originally expected. Most of the original members were now dead and Hermione didn't know where to begin in recruiting new members. Harry had yet to move out into the open and they had decided to let as few people as possible in on the secret. They were hoping to quell his uprising before it got too out of hand. It was risky, but Hermione hoped it had been a wise decision.

All of the Weasleys were there of course, as well as Professor McGonagall, most of the Hogwarts teachers, and a few key Ministry workers. As Minister for Magic, Kingsley couldn't openly declare his allegiance with the rogue defense group, but he had been extremely helpful in passing them information and putting them in touch with people in the Ministry who might be of use and disposed to join.

Neville and Luna were there of course and the rest of the Order was comprised mostly of other members of the D.A. They were all in their twenties now but it still felt strange to Hermione to see them as adults. She had trouble separating them from the images she had of them as children at Hogwarts. Of course she knew that they were her age, some of them older even, and that they knew what it was to fight, but she still couldn't help viewing them as though they were small children wearing oversized robes.

When she could stall no longer, Hermione finally spoke. Her voice rang loudly and clearly throughout the room and she was surprised at the authority and confidence she heard there. It was so at odds with the unsure helplessness she was feeling.

"The Dementors are on the move."

* * *

"What news do you have for me, Draco?" Harry asked, looking at the blonde man sitting beside him. He noted that there was no fear in Draco's expression. The boy had grown up, and was now determined to prove himself in a way much different from his once eager, youthful desire to please. He had adopted a demeanor similar to that of his father, but slightly more humble.

"Simms sent word this afternoon," Draco drawled. "The Dementors have agreed to return from banishment in Antarctica and to serve you, in return for protection and feeding."

"Good," Harry said. "They will have Azkaban once it has fallen under our control. Until then, they may return if they like, but I cannot guarantee a ready supply of souls."

Draco nodded.

"Healer Rosings," Harry said smiling, turning to face a short, pudgy woman who sat further down the table, "What news of our doppelganger?" Not wanting to alert anyone to Harry's reformation of the Death Eaters, Harry had sent one of his new minions to St. Mungo's to impersonate him. Healer Rosings had been imperiused to feed him Poly-Juice Potion every hour on the hour, and the Harry impersonator was feigning severe depression so as not to be forced to speak and give himself away.

"My boss has become suspicious," the healer said flatly. "I don't believe anyone suspects the truth, but they know that something is not right."

"Unfortunate," Harry said flicking his wand once and watching as the woman slumped out of her chair, unconscious. "Avery, return to St. Mungo's this evening and find another Healer to Imperius. If you can, there is a particularly annoying witch named Matilda that I would like you to target. Draco, send Healer Rosings to Simms in Antarctica with your reply, as a token of thanks to the Dementors."

"Yes, My Lord," Draco and Avery replied, simultaneously.

* * *

"Voldemort has managed to persuade the Dementors to return from their banishment in Antarctica. We're not sure what he's offered them but we're assuming he's offered them protection as well as a ready supply of souls." Hermione refused to call the enemy they were fighting by Harry's name. Some believed that Harry was mad and was doing this all of his own accord; some believed that he and Voldemort were now some sort of hybrid and Harry was just as responsible as Voldemort; others, Hermione among them, believed that Voldemort had taken complete control of Harry's mind and body and Harry was lost somewhere within himself, unable to fight back. No one could be sure, but Hermione couldn't allow herself to believe anything else.

"How far are they?" Lavender Brown asked from down the table and Hermione nearly balked at the strong determination in her voice. She had always seen Lavender as kind of a petty ditz, but her voice was now one of someone who had experienced much in life and wasn't about to step down. Until recently, Hermione hadn't seen her since the war, and she assumed that the war had changed a lot of people. She took a moment to compose herself before answering.

"They are moving in small groups," she said. "The Ministry has dispatched a group of Aurors to hold them back. Because of the statute regarding their banishment the Ministry was able to do this in an official capacity, but they have yet to release the real reasons for Dementor's sudden desire to come south."

A shudder went around the room and Hermione pressed on. "Bill, have you heard anything?"

"The Goblins have offered him their support," he said slowly. "They won't give him complete allegiance because they won't serve any wizard master, but they've agreed to help him."

"What did he offer them?" Ron asked through gritted teeth.

Bill sighed and waited a moment before answering.

"He's offered them wands," he said finally, in a soft, defeated voice. "When he's taken control of the Ministry he's going to give them equal status as wizards."

"Alright, then," said Hermione trying not to let the effect this news had over her affect her voice, "We lost the Goblins, but I received word from Hagrid and Grawp today. The giants won't join us but they won't join Voldemort either. It seems they refuse to get involved in Wizard disputes after the casualties they suffered in the last war."

"And the garden gnomes?" someone asked in a sing-song voice and Hermione peered down the table to find Luna, looking dreamy as usual.

"The garden gnomes?" Hermione asked, trying not to let her frustration show in her voice. "What use would they be?"

"Don't underestimate them," Luna said, meeting Hermione's eyes in a very shrewd and uncharacteristic way. "They're saliva can be useful and I think they might prove to be excellent fighters."

"Alright, Luna. You work on that," Hermione snapped, losing her patience. "Sylva," she asked a tall thin woman sitting across the room, "Is Voldemort still unaware that we are on to him?"

The woman nodded. Hermione sighed. At least one thing was going right for their side.

* * *

"Runcorn," Harry addressed the tall, black haired man sitting further down the table.

"The Giants are reluctant my lord," he answered in his deep, husky voice. "They sustained many losses during the last war and are not eager to return."

"No matter," Harry said, brushing off the disappointing news. "Giants are only beneficial in open war; something I am hoping to avoid. Even then, they can be more of a hindrance than a help."

"No war, My Lord?" Runcorn asked, his eyebrows raised.

Harry stared at the man who had questioned him, waiting until he began to squirm uncomfortably in his seat. Harry smiled inwardly. Runcorn was a very large, very powerful man and it had only taken a few seconds of Harry's gaze to frighten him.

"Yes, Runcorn, war is not our ultimate goal," Harry answered. "Of course, if war becomes necessary, we will fight, and win, but it will likely never come to that. You may have noticed, I am employing methods very different from those of your last master. I have earned the allegiance of various magical creatures and beings by offering them freedoms and privileges they have never known. I realize that Voldemort used a similar technique, but his promises were only ever empty. I intend to keep mine.

"Additionally, I do not intend to imprison or kill Muggleborns simply because they are such." There was an intake of breath at this and Harry stifled it with a single look at those gathered around him.

"Tell me, Draco," he said, "Who was the brightest witch or wizard of our year at Hogwarts?"

Draco averted his eyes and looked down at his hands. Harry raised a single eyebrow, waiting.

"Hermione Granger," he said after a while, in a voice barely above a whisper.

"And her blood status?" Harry asked.

"Muggleborn," Draco answered reluctantly.

"So just 'cause your old girlfriend was a Mudblood you're gonna let 'em all steal our magic?" said a man at the end of the table.

Every eye in the room was immediately on Harry, obviously expecting the man who had been so disrespectful of their new master to be punished. Harry just chuckled, humorlessly.

"Ah, Amycus," he said, "how well you have been trained by your former master. Would it surprise you to know that I am a half-blood?"

Harry knew that the large blonde man indeed knew of Harry's blood status, but had expected him to deny it.

"Perhaps you would be more surprised," he said, staring at the man, "to know that Voldemort is as well?"

The man showed visible shock at this news.

"Muggleborns are not inferior to Purebloods. They are able to do magic just as well, if not better, than Purebloods. They do not steal magic, but are born with it. Voldemort used hatred of Muggleborns to help him achieve power. It was never about Muggleborns, but just a tool in taking control. We will take power without that tool. Without Muggleborns, we are few. This is no longer Pure versus Muggleborn. This is taking power, and fighting those who oppose us."

"So this is nothing more than a coup to take over the Ministry? Why not just run for Minister, then? I'm sure they'd all love your opinions on Magical harmony."

Without a word the Wizard who had spoken these words fell to the ground, writhing in pain. Over his screams, Harry resumed speaking.

"You seem to have forgotten yourself, Marshall," Harry said calmly. "Perhaps I have been too lenient. No matter. Perhaps now you won't forget to show loyalty and respect to the one who plans to deliver you from this life of poverty, shame, and disgrace.

"Voldemort chose to rally the smaller group of Wizards to aid him in his rise to power. In case you have forgotten, I will remind you: He was not successful. I do believe that all magical creatures and beings have their own strengths, and can all be taught to wield those powers for a greater cause. We will rally all forms of magical being, and those who oppose us will be punished, but that is merely the first step in our ascent to power. It is only the first step toward our eventual goal.

"But My Lord," said Draco beside him, "What goal is there beyond control over Wizards?"

Harry allowed himself a brief smile.

"Control over Muggles."

* * *

Hermione and Ron stood up from the table together and left the room. The meeting hadn't gone well and Hermione was beginning to feel a bit defeated. _But_, she reminded herself, _we do still have one advantage. _As Hermione pulled her cloak over her shoulders preparing to leave, Ron spoke in a whisper. 

"The spy?" he asked.

"She's managed to infiltrate his inner circle. He has no idea."

Ron nodded and the two swept from the house into the cold night air.


	4. The Wisdom of the Centaurs

**A/N: **Lot's of important stuff in this chapter for later on, though some of it might not be obvious. Thanks to everyone who has been reading and especially those who review. I love the guesses about what is to come. Reviews encourage me to write faster (though I really should be studying) so keep them coming, unless you care about my education. Hope you all like the chapter!

* * *

Hermione pulled the sheet of parchment across her desk and bent so low over it her nose was almost touching the paper. She squinted, struggling to make out the words. All of the reading she had done in her life was finally catching up to her—she would need glasses soon.

She looked up as someone knocked on her office door and then pushed it open without waiting for a response.

"Miss Granger," said the short, stout witch, striding into the room. "What is the meaning of this?" The woman slammed a large roll of parchment down on Hermione's messy desk, upsetting a cup of tea as she did.

Hermione sighed. She didn't even need to look at the parchment to know what it was.

"What do you want me to say, Medea?" she asked, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her eyes. It had been a long night.

"Tell me it's a joke!" the woman almost screamed. "Tell me you aren't really pushing a bill to grant the goblins the right to bear wands!"

Hermione had to check herself before answering. The woman was after all head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures: Her boss.

"It's time, Medea," she said calmly. "Goblins clearly fall under the classification of 'being'. They have sufficient intelligence to understand the laws of the magical community and to bear part of the responsibility in shaping those laws, as defined in the act of 1811. They are legally part of the magical community and therefore have a legal right to the same rights as wizards."

Hermione didn't mention that if they didn't allow the goblins this right, Voldemort, in the body of Harry Potter, would soon gain their allegiance.

"I won't back you on this," Medea said shrilly. "Goblins are sneaky, evil little—"

"Medea!" Hermione interjected. "There's no need for that. And I don't need your backing. The Minister has already agreed to back the proposal. Now all that's left is the Wizengamot vote."

Medea mouthed wordlessly for a moment before turning on her heal and walking out of the room. Hermione thought she heard her say something under breath like "brown nosing know-it-all upstarts" as she left, but she couldn't be sure.

She unrolled the parchment on her desk and read through it again. If she was honest with herself, she didn't like the idea of goblins being given equal status with wizards either, especially after her experiences with Griphook, but she didn't see another option. They had to keep the goblins away from Voldemort. Otherwise, they didn't stand a chance against him. And besides, she consoled herself, despite her feelings toward them, they really did have a legal right.

"Hermione, can I come through?" someone said from the fireplace, breaking into Hermione's thoughts. She looked over to see Ginny's head floating there. She beckoned that it was alright and Ginny climbed out, standing and wiping soot from her robes.

Hermione watched as Ginny took a step forward toward the chair placed across from Hermione's desk, then stopped. She turned for a moment, and then almost immediately turned back. She glanced around nervously and seemed unaware that Hermione was there.

"Ginny, is everything okay?" Hermione asked. She thought she had an idea what this might be about, but didn't want to press her.

Ginny met Hermione's eyes for only a moment, nodded, and then started surveying the room again.

"Why don't you sit down?" Hermione offered. Ginny nodded again and seemed to steel herself before moving resolutely toward the chair. She sat down and assumed a blatantly false air of confidence before speaking. Hermione could tell by the awkward way she swept her long red hair behind her shoulders, and the way she seemed to be struggling to meet Hermione's eyes, that she was very uncomfortable.

"How's work?" Ginny asked.

Hermione didn't bother answering. "No one has seen him yet," she said instead, trying to gauge Ginny's reaction.

Ginny abandoned all false pretenses and her shoulders slumped.

"Hermione, are you sure? I mean, how can you be sure that's not really Harry at St. Mungo's?"

"Well, if you would just join the Order and come to the meetings, you would know."

Ginny's voice became uncharacteristically high pitched, but then, nearly everything about Ginny was uncharacteristic these days. "I can't join the Order. I'm Victoire's godmother. And Mum needs me around the house."

"Oh, that's crap, Ginny," Hermione said a bit harshly. "Bill and Fleur joined and they're Victoire's parents! And your mother is there as well! It's fine if you don't want to join, but stop acting like you can't."

Ginny's voice immediately receded and she now spoke quietly: "But I can't," she said sadly. "I can't fight against Harry."

"We're not fighting against Harry, Ginny. We're fighting against Voldemort."

"Same thing now, isn't it?" Ginny said barely audibly.

"No, it's not the same thing!"

"In the end it will be, won't it!" Ginny was shouting now. "In the end it won't matter that it's Voldemort in Harry's body or Harry in Voldemort's body or whatever you think is going on! In the end, you'll kill him just the same!"

Hermione didn't answer right away. There was some truth in Ginny's words and it was a truth Hermione had been trying to ignore. Finally, she spoke in a calm, clear voice. "We'll deal with that when it comes, but Ginny, I have to believe there's a way to end this, and save Harry at the same time. We'll find a way."

Ginny stood up suddenly and turned her back on Hermione. "There is no way," she said, throwing a pinch of floo powder into the fireplace and stepping in. She was gone before Hermione could respond.

* * *

After what felt like an endless day at work, Hermione stepped into the warmth of her flat and immediately felt as though a huge weight was lifted from her. She could hear Ron clanking around in the kitchen as she removed her cloak and wondered with affectionate dread what he might be doing.

Ron appeared in the kitchen doorway and Hermione had to fight back a laugh. He was wearing a frilly pink apron and his hair and face were covered with what looked like flour. "Hello, beautiful," he said, grinning.

"Oh, Ron, don't do that," Hermione answered. She was fully aware that she was far from looking her best. She had barely slept in days, she had dark circles under her eyes, her clothes were wrinkled and stained and her normally frizzy hair had exceeded all of its past glory.

"I like the frazzled Hermione," Ron said sincerely, moving toward her. "It reminds me of Hogwarts, when I first fell in love with you."

Hermione smiled as he kissed her. "Would you mind telling me why my fiancé is wearing his sister-in-law's apron and is covered in flour?"

"Well," he said, looking sheepish, "I was trying to make dinner, but I think maybe we'd better go to mum's."

Hermione laughed. Neither she nor Ron were very good at household tasks. They occasionally tried, but they never really succeeded. She decided to take Ron's word for it and not go into the kitchen.

"What are we going to do when we get married?" Hermione joked. "We can't keep going to your mother's for dinner every night."

"No," Ron said seriously, "But maybe by then we'll be able to tell her we live together and she'll come here to make us dinner."

Hermione snorted. She couldn't tell whether Ron was joking. "I still think we should just tell her," Hermione said. "I don't like lying to her." Ron and Hermione had been engaged for nearly four years, but had yet to set a date for their wedding. It was an unspoken bond between them that they would wait until Harry could be there as best man. As a result, Molly could not accept that her son would live with a woman who wasn't his wife, even if it was Hermione, so Hermione had been forced to keep her own flat in London, though she rarely slept there. Waiting for Harry though was seeming more and more fruitless every day. They could feasibly spend their whole lives waiting. She looked at Ron, the man she had known for nearly all of her life, covered in flour, grinning and looking adorable and affection swept up in her. Before she knew what she was saying, she spoke: "I don't want to wait anymore. Let's get married."

For a moment Ron's smile stayed on his face but then slowly began to falter.

"I just want Harry to be there," he said sadly.

"I know, love," she said kindly. "But we can't wait forever."

Without warning Ron pulled away from her, looking livid.

"Ron, what…"

"It's like you don't even care! Our best friend is out there somewhere with Voldemort controlling him, and you want to get married! You don't even look upset! You're just calm, cool Hermione like always."

"Of course I'm upset, Ron!" she shouted back. "But we can't let Voldemort keep coming between us."

"Don't you mean we can't let Harry come between us? I know that's what you're thinking," Ron hissed.

"You know that's not true." Hermione was making every effort to return her voice to its normal pitch. She didn't want to turn this into a major row. She didn't think she could deal with that on top of everything else. It seemed everyone was turning on her lately. "I love you, Ron. I want to be your wife, but if you want to wait, then I won't complain."

"Not out loud, maybe, but you'll make your opinion known."

There was something in the tone of Ron's voice as he said this that made Hermione recoil. There was so much venom there; so much anger. Of course she and Ron had had some spectacular fights over the years, but he had never spoken to her like this. Had something happened? Had she done something?

Before she could answer, a knock sounded on the door of their flat. Hermione exchanged a nervous glance with Ron and she could tell their row had been temporarily shelved.

"Yes?" Hermione asked through the closed door.

"It's me," said a familiar woman's voice. "The password is _Rapier_."

Hermione opened the door to reveal a familiar face. The face was familiar, but the expression wasn't. It held on it a look of grim determination, and of extreme bravery that Hermione would never have expected there. But then, Hermione thought, she was after all a Gryffindor.

"I have news."

Hermione stepped back to allow entrance for their spy.

* * *

Harry frowned as he walked through the forbidden forest. Conflicting emotions had begun to besiege him the moment he had stepped through its borders, some of them troubling. He remembered being rescued from the Acromantulas by Ron's Ford Anglia turned wild and felt something close to fondness for the memory. The feeling felt strange and unfamiliar to him. He pushed it aside.

He remembered fear. He had felt so much fear within the borders of this forest on so many different occasions. But what was fear? He tried to recall the exact feelings that the emotion created, but couldn't quite remember how it felt.

He remembered desperation. These particular memories were vague, and he was partially aware that they stemmed from Voldemort's time as a mere shadow of himself, slithering around the forest, sustaining himself on Unicorn blood.

Above all, he remembered an emotion he couldn't quite name. It lingered on the fringes of his consciousness, obtrusive in his thoughts but not quite discernable. There had been fear on that occasion, yes, but there had been something else as well. Was it longing? Sorrow? Perhaps, but there was something more. What was it? It seemed as though the details of this particular memory where just barely out of his reach. He knew the memory was there, but he couldn't quite recall it. Why couldn't he remember his own past?

His reminiscing was interrupted by a barely audible sound behind him. He grinned and, without turning around, he spoke. "Hello, Bane."

"Harry Potter," the Centaur said, walking around to face him. "You'll forgive me. Humans aren't usually so adept at hearing the approach of a Centaur."

Harry just grinned.

"Yes, Harry Potter. I see you have become quite a powerful wizard. I believe that is the benefit of having the power of two in one physical being."

"You have not lost your ability to read the stars, I see," Harry said, still smiling.

"You know very well that we Centaurs do not wish to become involved in wizarding affairs, nor do we wish to interfere with the plans of the universe." Bane spoke as though he were replying to a request made by Harry; as though it were a completely logical turn in the conversation. Harry had indeed come to see where the Centaurs would stand in the new order.

"And what does the universe tell you about me now?" Harry asked. "Have the stars changed from the last time you consulted them about me?" He spoke though he had no interest in what the Centaur thought the universe had in store. He had lost all faith in Divination in any form. After all, the prophecy concerning him and Voldemort had not been fulfilled. "Neither can live while the other survives," it had said, but now they would live, or would die, together. The prophecy had been proven false.

Bane lowered his head. He had an air of sorrow about him that was very uncharacteristic of any Centaur Harry had ever known. "You shall succeed in your truest desire," the Centaur said.

Harry was a bit taken aback, though he didn't betray his surprise to Bane. He had not actually expected the Centaur to answer him.

"War is inevitable as long as Voldemort lives. Periods of calm followed by periods of strife permeate his existence. Mars is bright tonight. Venus pales among the planets. Nestor weeps for he shall lose dear friends this night."

"You became involved in human affairs at the Battle of Hogwarts," Harry said as though Bane hadn't just shared with himwhat he saw as precious secrets. "You fought for me because you thought I was dead. Why?"

"The stars foretold that a great shift in the relationship between magical beings would take place that night. We would unite to defeat a common threat. We did not defy the universe, but waited until it was our time to obey."

"But it does not tell you to help me now? As I try to unite magical beings in the truest manner possible?"

The Centaur laughed. "Do not treat me as a fool, Harry Potter. I know your true plans and true motives. You will unite and liberate magical creatures of all races, yes, but only to help you achieve your own ends. As soon as you have reached your own goal, of power, of control, those few whom you let live will fall to a lower status than they have now. You will create misery among all creatures and beings, magical and otherwise, on a level that has never been known before on this earth. Once a liberator, you are now the bringer of despair."

"Well, then," Harry said lightly, "it's too bad you didn't know that before you helped me the first time. Does that mean you won't help me then?"

A ruffling of leaves announced the arrival of the rest of the herd of Centaurs. They came out into the clearing and stood in a circle, surrounding him with their bows drawn.

Many of the Centaur's heads were bowed. Harry thought he saw a glint of tears in Firenze's eyes.

"You know my power, Centaur," Harry addressed Bane.

"Though we know the future," Bane said slowly, "we must stand against you."

Harry laughed a cold, merciless laugh. "So be it," he said.

Many things happened at once. Each of the Centaurs let fly their arrows, but none of them reached their mark. They collided in the center of the circle, where Harry had been standing, and fell to the ground as though they had hit a solid wall. Harry had flown up into the sky, laughing wildly, as he brought his wand down toward the center of the circle. A blinding flash of red light momentarily blazed in the forest clearing and the ground erupted. All at once, the Centaurs fell into the newly disturbed earth and were submerged in molten lava.

Still laughing, Harry flew from the spot, leaving the fiery pit as a reminder of what it cost to cross Lord Voldemort. Harry shook his head. "What it cost to cross Harry Potter," he corrected himself.

"Fools," Harry thought, as he flew unaided through the night air. Had they only agreed to stand by him, he would have let them live. They had known the future and had willingly gone to their own deaths, _and_, he thought, _why would anyone _choose_ death?_


	5. The Pride of Gryffindor

Harry arrived back at Malfoy Manor that evening feeling exhilarated. He had, for the first time since the murder of Lucius Malfoy, used his power in the way it was meant to be used, and he could still feel the pure ecstasy of it coursing through him.

He was met by an assemblage of people and creatures that would have seemed bizarre to anyone who had ever been a part of the wizarding world.

Seated around the ornate table were various Death Eaters, side by side with respected Ministry officials, goblins, vampires, werewolves, a human representative of the Merpeople, and even some of Harry's old classmates. All four houses were represented: Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and even Gryffindor all had members present. It had been easy, really, to convince them of the validity of his goals. He knew exactly what each group wanted to hear.

When he disappeared, no one knew where or why he had gone. Rumors were all anyone had to go on. The consensus was that Harry had been racked with misplaced guilt for the deaths of all who died in the war. Humble as always, he couldn't deal with being treated as a hero when he, so endearingly, saw himself as responsible for so much suffering. Of course, everyone saw this as even more of a reason to look up to him and to label him as their hero. With his absence, he became something of a legend. People saw him as the one who had sacrificed everything for them; his parents, his godfather, his friends, his childhood, his happiness, and even his own life.

Thankfully, no one who knew of Harry's return and admittance into St. Mungo's had let the information out. None of the wizarding public knew that he had been labeled insane and was claiming to be possessed by Lord Voldemort. He handled himself well upon his return. He first approached the former Death Eaters and sympathizers, using Draco's backing and his own promises to lure them. They were desperate to follow anyone who promised to deliver them from the hell they were living in. Then, one by one, he began approaching those who had backed him in the last war. He told them tales of the last five years of his life: how he had been unable to deal with the guilt, how he left because of it but began to realize that nothing had really changed in the wizarding world and because of that, all of the deaths had been for nothing. He came back, he told them, determined to make sure that none of their loved ones had died in vain. Together, they would revolutionize the wizarding world. All intelligent creatures and beings, pure-blood, half-blood and muggleborn alike, would be equal in the new order. It was time for change, he told them, and they were eager to join the great Harry Potter in finishing what had been started all those years ago.

They were no longer Death Eaters, but Liberators. That was what he called them. He limited the amount of former Voldemort supporters at meetings where his new followers would be present. Having a few Death Eaters actually helped his cause: They saw the presence of those like Draco Malfoy as a sign that things would change. Draco had repented, they assumed, and was ready to fight not for Voldemort, not for the Ministry, but for Harry Potter. All would unite: the formerly oppressed along with their former oppressors, and no one would be capable of uniting them but the wonderful, the brave, the generous, the true hearted Harry Potter. They would follow him, he knew. He had them now and they would continue to follow him even when they saw what means he was willing to use to 'liberate' them.

"My Lord," they said as he joined them.

"The Centaurs will no longer be an issue," he said without preamble or further explanation.

"Where is Draco?" he asked the room at large, noticing the empty seat beside him. Draco had become something of his second in command and he had never been late before.

Before anyone could answer, Draco Malfoy came bustling into the room, looking disheveled and very much out of countenance.

"Sorry," he mumbled, sitting down in the empty chair. Something was not right. He had not shown the proper respect to Harry, and was now fidgeting in his chair, looking down at his hands in his lap, occasionally looking up at Harry but then looking away immediately when he saw Harry looking back.

Harry pushed into Draco's thoughts and laughed at what he found.

Shaking his head, he stood up.

"Follow me, Draco," he said, exiting into the library. It was a moment before Draco followed.

"Shut the door behind you." Draco obeyed but stood facing the door, seemingly unable to face Harry.

Harry laughed again.

"Hello, Ginny," he said, and the witch disguised as Draco Malfoy finally turned to meet his eyes.

"I'm not…I'm Malfoy," she said lamely.

Harry chuckled.

"It's good to see you again, Ginny."

Ginny didn't say anything but looked sadly into his eyes.

"Tell me, what have you done with the real Draco?"

She hesitated for a moment. "He's fine," she said, seeming to come to terms with how badly her plan had worked.

"Polyjuice?" he asked. She nodded.

"Why did you come here?" He knew of course, but he would have to be careful not to let too much of Voldemort show through to her.

"I just…well…I had to see for myself."

"See what, exactly?"

"Whether you-know-who was really possessing you."

"What?" Harry asked, feigning surprise. "What would make you think that?"

Ginny looked confused but spoke anyway. "Er…well Hermione said he is, and that you reformed the Death Eaters and are going to try to take over the Wizarding world." She said all of this very quickly.

Harry shook his head slowly. "No, Ginny, that's not it at all."

"It's not?" she asked. She looked pathetically hopeful. All of the fire and spark he had once known her to possess had vanished and she was now nothing more than a weak, broken little girl. She was desperate for something to put her world back in order. She had been destroyed when he left, he knew from various sources, and had changed from the strong, capable woman she had once been, to the desperate mess he now saw before him. This would be too easy.

"No. I can't believe Hermione would stoop that low. Look, Ginny, you know me. Do you really think I would let that happen?"

"Well, I didn't want to believe it. But then, why are you in Malfoy Manor surrounded by Death Eaters?"

Harry sighed. "It's time things changed, Ginny. While I was away, I had a lot of time to think. Voldemort is dead, but things haven't really changed. No one is equal. The Wizarding world needs someone to rally behind in order to put things right." He was pleased with the way his voice took on the tone of a dedicated revolutionary, rather than a tyrant.

"But Hermione would love that," Ginny answered, biting her lip.

"Hermione's naïve, Ginny. She still thinks authority is always right. She thinks you can get anything done if you go through the proper channels. The world doesn't work like that. Sometimes you need to do things you'd rather not do in order to put things right. I tried to go to her for help, but she refused to join me."

"But Bill said you told him Voldemort's soul was in you."

"I was desperate. He was going to force me home. I told him the first thing that came to my mind."

Before Ginny could respond, her sleek blonde hair started turning red. She was back to her usual form.

Harry looked at her for a moment and stood up, walking toward her. He almost had her, he knew, and knew what he had to do to secure her loyalty. She stood too. She seemed to be waging a battle in her mind of whether to run for the door or stand her ground. Before she could decide, he kissed her. She didn't respond at first but he persisted. After only a moment, she began kissing him back with a ferocity their kisses had never had before. It was like she was putting the last five years of anger, frustration, and loneliness into that kiss and Harry allowed it. She needed this, he knew. From that moment on, she was his.

* * *

"Hermione's known for ages that you aren't at the hospital anymore," Ginny said, hours later, looking dreamily into his eyes. "She reformed the Order. She's just trying to oppose you as much as she can before you figure out that she's onto you."

Harry was pleased that he was right in believing that Ginny would prove to be beneficial to him in more ways than one. This was indeed valuable information. It was troubling, though, that the mudblood was already onto him. He would need to deal with her immediately.

"Where are you going?" Ginny asked with eyes reminiscent of a wounded but loyal puppy, as he made to leave the room abruptly.

"I have some things I need to take care of," he said, leaving her there without looking back.

* * *

"Parvati, what's happened?" Hermione asked as Parvati Patil pushed past her into the flat. It was odd that Parvati would meet them here rather than sending them information by Patronus. She was an excellent, capable, and always careful spy. Something huge must have happened.

"He knows," she said, refusing Hermione's gesture that she should sit. "I don't know how he found out, but he knows that we know about him. He already took the Polyjuiced Harry out of St. Mungo's and, now that he can work in the open, he's changing his plans. Ron, Hermione, I think he killed the centaurs—all of them, because they wouldn't follow him."

Parvati flinched and Hermione thought she saw the girl's lift arm twitch slightly. Hermione felt a sudden wave of sympathy, coupled with great respect toward Parvati. She had been approached by Harry shortly after his escape from St. Mungo's. She had seen right through his revolutionary claims, but had shown foresight no one could have expected from anyone who had known the old Harry Potter. She pretended to believe him, and to agree with his aims, and had been branded with the new Dark Mark that very evening. He left, pleased that he had gained a new follower, and Parvati immediately contacted Hermione with the information. Parvati was the first to alert them of Harry's escape, and she was the reason the Order had been reformed within days of his reformation of the Death Eaters. Since then, she had continued as a spy, passing them information on everything from Harry's new followers to his plans. She was the reason they were able to move the high security prisoners at Azkaban to a new location hours before their planned escape. She was the reason they were able to have Kingsley's Senior Undersecretary moved to a different department, and then fired, before he had managed to Imperius the Minister. In short, she was the reason the Order was still afloat. Hermione never would have expected it from the giggly girl she had known at Hogwarts but Parvati had succeeded where many had failed. She managed to fool Lord Voldemort on a level almost rivaling that of Severus Snape, and Voldemort, so far, had no idea.

"I have to go," she said, moving back toward the door. "He's expecting me back."

"Ok," Hermione said, taking control. "Thank you for telling us. We can handle this."

* * *

The news of Harry moving out into the open was not well received by the Order of the Phoenix at the emergency meeting called hours later.

"This is better," Hermione attempted to reassure them. "Now that he's moving out into the open, we can be too. We can finally warn everyone against him before he can recruit more good people to his side." Unfortunately, Hermione knew, though she didn't say it out loud, it also meant he would be far more aggressive in his actions.

They took the news about the Centaurs even harder.

"He's not even trying to fight it, is he?" Neville asked, bitterly. He had always respected Harry and was having difficulty accepting the new developments. "We all know Harry's strong. He could probably cast Voldemort out of him if he really wanted to." Neville paused and then said quietly: "He must like it."

"No," Bill growled and Hermione's eyes snapped onto him, surprised. Something had changed in Bill since all of this started. He had gone from being the confident, capable Bill Weasley she had grown up knowing and admiring to being a quiet, seemingly defeated man. Something had happened to him and it had changed him. The tone in his voice now seemed out of place from what she had come to expect from him.

"Harry spent five years trying and it almost killed him," Bill explained. "You didn't see him when he came back. He was nearly dead of starvation. He spent five years slowly killing himself so that we'd be safe, and he was winning. He managed to control Voldemort, even when he knew it was killing him. If it weren't for me…" Bill's voice faltered, but he continued. "I forced him back here. I didn't believe him. He asked me to kill him; he begged me, but I thought he was mad. I brought him back against his will. After suffering for our safety for all those years, he should have come back to our love and support. Instead, we greeted him with accusations and distrust. We all thought he was mad, all of us. After all that, how could anyone expect him to keep fighting? It would have been impossible. What reason did he have left?"

Molly was crying now and a few others were as well. Bill was being too hard on himself, Hermione thought, but he was right. They should have believed Harry. They should have known better. How could they expect him to keep fighting such an impossible force to fight when those he trusted most had abandoned him?

"You're forgetting something, both of you," Ron said. Hermione looked at him to find and odd, blazing look on his face. It was a cross between anger, fear and pride, she thought, and she wondered what he was thinking.

"Harry _will_ fight," he said. "I know it because I know Harry. I know Harry better than anyone and I know he'll fight again, and a part of him is still probably fighting now. I don't know how this will end, but Harry's still in there somewhere and as long as he remains there, we still have hope."

"But how do you know he's still in there?" Molly asked, still crying softly. "How do you know he can still fight it even if he tries?"

"Because, mum, he has 'power the Dark Lord knows not.' He has love."

* * *

Hermione watched the next morning as Kingsley cleared his throat and stepped up to the podium. She was standing behind him on the platform erected in the center of the Ministry atrium, prepared to speak on behalf of the Order if necessary. She looked out into the crowd, dreading the moment when they would finally learn the truth of recent events. She wished so much that they could have stopped Voldemort before it got to this point, and kept the wizarding world from learning of Harry's involvement. She knew now that even if they did manage to banish Voldemort from Harry's body, Harry's life would never be the same.

Hermione fought back a scowl as her eyes landed on Rita Skeeter, standing with a hungry expression on her face in the front row, her quick quotes quill hovering in front of her, with her photographer by her side. She wondered how badly Rita's article would be skewed, but then realized that not many lies would be necessary to paint the gruesome and scandalous picture that Rita was known for.

Many of Hermione's co-workers were in the crowd as well, but the people that bothered Hermione the most were her old schoolmates. Many of them she hadn't seen since Hogwarts and she wasn't looking forward to watching them hear with horror what had happened to the boy they had once walked the castle halls with. They had known him in the most innocent stages of his life, and would now be witness to the worst.

"Thank you for coming," Kingsley said in his calm, deep, reassuring voice, without betraying the dread he must be feeling. "I come to you today with very unfortunate news." His hesitation before continuing was minute, and Hermione guessed she was the only one who noticed it, but it jostled her all the same. If Kingsley Shacklebolt was unsure, how could she expect to keep it together?

"Five years ago, many of you watched as Harry Potter brought about the death of Lord Voldemort." A cheer went up in the crowd that only filled Hermione with more regret at the announcement. Kingsley quelled it with only a slight gesture of his hand.

"Through a complicated series of events, a part of Voldmort's soul remained in tact that night." The cheers were replaced with terrified gasps. "The part of his soul that survived attached to that of Harry Potter. Harry became aware of Voldemort's presence within him almost immediately, and left England for fear of putting the rest of us in danger. He spent five long years on the run from something from which there was no escape. He managed, for quite some time, to keep Voldemort's presence at bay. It wasn't until recently that Voldemort took complete and total control of Harry's body and mind.

"I regret to inform you that the Harry Potter we knew is no longer the dominant presence in his body. Some of you may have already received visits from the wizard resembling him, purporting to want to revolutionize the wizarding world. This is a lie. Voldemort is using Harry's fame and reputation for Light to sway good and honest wizards to his own purposes. He is not a revolutionary, but a Dark wizard bent on tyranny and total control of both the wizarding and non-magical worlds. Do not be fooled by his talk of equality. He is nothing more than Voldemort in disguise.

"The Ministry for Magic is already taking steps to quell his uprising. Together with the Order of the Phoenix, which has now been granted official status within the Ministry, we will do everything we can to banish Voldemort once and for all. We ask that the wizarding community do what they can to keep themselves and each other safe during this trying time, and band together to keep recent events from escalating beyond the point of control."

The crowd was silent as Kingsley finished speaking. Shocked disbelief was etched on each and every face Hermione could see. No one moved; no one spoke. Even Rita Skeeter's Quick Quotes Quill had stopped scribbling.

Finally, a hand was raised in the back of the crowd, and a wizard Hermione didn't recognize spoke. "How do we know that what you say is true? How do we know that Harry isn't trying to revolutionize the Ministry for the better, and you came up with these lies about You-Know-Who to keep us from joining him?"

Kingsley stepped aside and Hermione moved forward to take the podium.

"Hermione Granger," he said. "Member and co-head of the Order of the Phoenix." There was some snickering in the crowd at this announcement but Hermione ignored it.

"Voldemort's first step was to recruit former Death Eaters and sympathizers. That is hardly an action one would expect from Harry Potter. Harry's body was being held in St. Mungo's, but he escaped, leaving behind a Polyjuiced Death Eater to resemble him to keep us from learning of his escape." Hermione sighed before continuing.

"Last night there was a disturbance in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts. Every last Centaur is missing. It is our belief that Voldemort approached the Centaurs for allegiance and, when they refused, he killed each and every one of them in a very violent and brutal manner."

Rita's quill was moving furiously across her parchment again as shocked murmurs spread through the crowd.

"Harry Potter: Genocidal Maniac," she said aloud.

"No," Hermione said firmly, addressing the reporter directly. Rita flinched. Apparently, she still hadn't forgotten her time in Hermione's jar. "Harry Potter is not in any way responsible for these events. It is our belief that Harry has lost all control of himself. Harry Potter is not the enemy. Voldemort is."

Rita didn't seem convinced. After all, Harry Potter snapping and killing an entire herd of Centaurs was far more scandalous than Voldemort's return.

A movement in the back of the crowd caught Hermione's eye and she watched as a heavily cloaked and hooded figure, face obscured, broke away and headed for the exit. Something wasn't right. She exchanged a look with one of her Order members. He nodded and headed after the figure.

* * *

**A/N: **I wanted to get this up before finals start so it's a bit rushed, but hopefully it's alright. I tried to clear a few things up that seemed to be confusing people, but a lot of the confusion is intentional. A lot of it is because the story is told from two different perspectives, and each of those characters believe different things to be fact. It's hard to know what the truth really is, because neither of the narrators are really sure. That's part of the fun of it, I think, but in the end it will all be clear (and some of it sooner). If you're still confused, let me know and, if it's not intentional, I'll try to clear it up in the next chapters.

Anyway, the stage is set now, Harry's out in the open, and soon all hell breaks loose. This should be fun.


	6. I Must Not Tell Lies

After a long morning of questioning, Hermione found herself wearily approaching the door of her office with Kingsley by her side.

"We did the right thing, right?" she asked him, looking to him for reassurance.

Kingsley nodded. "The wizarding community must be aware. It's the only way to keep them from joining him under false pretenses."

Hermione knew this. It had, after all, been her idea, but it calmed her to hear Kingsley agree. "I just hope we're not too late," she said more to herself than to Kingsley.

Saying goodbye to Kingsley, Hermione opened her office door to reveal Arlo Anterby, a new recruit of the Order, sitting on her desk, his wand trained on the figure that Hermione had seen trying to leave the press conference. The figure sat in the chair opposite the desk, shoulders slumped.

"Who is it?" she asked Anterby, stepping around to look at the person's face. It was still obscured by the hood.

"I don't know," he said. "She's not doing any talking."

"She?" Hermione asked, taking out her wand and lowering the hood. She gasped. "You can go, Anterby." He left the room with a curious glance at the woman, and Hermione couldn't blame him.

"Ginny, what are you doing?" she asked, lowering her wand.

"I wanted to see the conference," she met Hermione's eyes and didn't seem to be hiding anything. It was odd though: The Ginny sitting in front of Hermione was very different from the girl Hermione had grown accustomed to in recent years. She seemed happier than Hermione had seen her in a long time, and confident, and sure of herself. She seemed, for the first time in years, like Ginny Weasley.

"Well, why the disguise?" Hermione asked.

"Trust me, Hermione, if you were the former girlfriend of the Boy-Who-Lived turned the Man-Who-Saved-Us-All turned Evil-Tyrannical-Maniac, you'd want to avoid the stares and reporters too."

It made sense, Hermione admitted to herself, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right.

"You made the right decision in telling them," Ginny continued. "Is the offer still open to join the Order?"

Hermione hesitated. "Well…of course," she said after a few moments. After all, this was Ginny: She was a Weasley; her place was with the Order. "What made you decide to change your mind?"

"I guess I just didn't realize how far it had gone," Ginny said airily. "I thought you were making a big deal out of nothing, but now—"

Ginny was interrupted by a burst of green flames as Ron's head appeared in the fireplace.

"Ginny," Ron said, sounding surprised. "What are you doing here?"

Ginny smiled at her brother. "Hermione said I can join the order." Her voice was light as she spoke, but Hermione still couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. Something had to have caused this sudden change in behavior.

"Oh, good." Hermione didn't detect any of her own uneasiness in Ron's voice and felt slightly reassured. "I just got back to the shop, Hermione. George says that Mum wants us all over for dinner tonight and she won't take no for an answer. Can you make it?"

"I suppose," Hermione answered. She had been planning on staying late at work to try to catch up, but she felt drawn to those she loved lately, and didn't want to pass up the chance to spend time with them. Everything that had been happening lately reminded her of the lesson she should have learned years ago: She shouldn't take a single moment with those she loved for granted.

"Ginny?" Ron asked, turning his head back to look as his sister.

"I live there, prat," she laughed. "Of course I'll be there."

"Oh, right. I've got a customer. I'll see you later." Ron pulled his head from the fire and left Ginny and Hermione alone again.

* * *

Parvati felt her arm burn and struggled not to let the pain show on her face. She was standing in a crowd of people still lingering in the atrium following the Minister's speech, trying to mirror on her face the shocked disbelief at his announcement. She quickly made her excuses and headed out the door. It wouldn't do to not come when summoned. 

Once out of the building, Parvati turned on the spot and Disapparated, reappearing in the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor. It was quite a complicated piece of magic, she mused for the hundredth time, that only those who had been branded with the new Dark Mark could Apparate in or out of the mansion.

She walked briskly into the adjoining library to find Harry standing alone, waiting for her. She was surprised: She was usually only summoned to meetings, and not individually.

"You were at the conference?" he asked, not turning to face her.

"Yes, My Lord," she replied, bowing to his turned back. A gentle but persistent pain suddenly pierced her head and she had to struggle not to flinch. He was trying to breach her Occlumency again. She had mastered Occlumency during the first war. Her sister Padma, ever the Ravenclaw, had realized that Snape was using Legilimency against the students to punish them. She found a book on Occlumency and the two girls spent evening after evening attempting to master the skill. Padma never did, but Parvati seemed to be a natural. She was able to shield only those thoughts which she wanted to conceal, and replace them with thoughts that were safe for others to view. It was nearly impossible to tell that she was using Occlumency at all, but it was a constant struggle for her. She knew that Harry hadn't yet detected her shields, but that he still didn't quite trust her enough to stop trying. She assumed these random bursts of pain were the beginnings of the crumbling of the shield, and that it was only a matter of time before he discovered her duplicity.

The pain vanished as quickly as it appeared and she tried to keep relief from showing on her face. Harry hadn't yet spoken and Parvati was beginning to worry.

"Would you like an account of the conference, My Lord?" she asked nervously.

"I have already been given a full account," he answered, but didn't speak again. Parvati waited. Finally, he turned to face her.

"Thus far, Parvati, you have been a loyal servant," he said. She averted her eyes. It wouldn't do to appear too forward.

"Thank you, My Lord."

"But you have yet to undertake any mission in which you were required to prove your capabilities." He paused again.

"I fear that there is a spy within my ranks, Parvati." She froze. Had he discovered her?

"There are few other explanations for the discovery of my escape from St. Mungo's and for the resistance's knowledge of my subsequent actions. I must not allow this to continue."

Parvati nodded. What was he getting at?

"No one but my closest allies know of your involvement with our cause. Now that Granger has announced her intentions, you can safely approach her and ask to join the Order of the Phoenix without raising suspicion. I would like you to do so, and to report to me what you learn."

"Yes, My Lord," Parvati said, bowing again. "Thank you for the opportunity to prove myself."

"You are excused." He turned his back on her again and she had to struggle not to rush from his presence. She hated being around him. It was more than unsettling to see Harry in this new light. He was the boy she had attended classes with since she was eleven, and had gone to the Yule Ball with, and watched defeat the Dark Lord. His new power terrified her, yes, but that wasn't the worst of it. It took everything in her to not just walk up to him and shake him by the shoulders, screaming at him to stop this fiasco and just be Harry again.

She knew Hermione thought he was possessed by Voldemort, and she didn't deny that that was a part of it, but she didn't think that Harry had been completely eradicated. She couldn't explain why she felt this way, but she was almost certain that Harry had chosen this path; that a part of him had chosen to allow Voldemort to come through and that he was completely aware of everything he was doing.

And now things were going to get very complicated. How was she supposed to act a double agent? Would she have to pass genuine information to him to preserve her ruse? And would she have to pass faulty information to Hermione to keep Harry from figuring her out? How could she ever do this without being caught? It was impossible. She suddenly felt a wave of respect for Severus Snape. She didn't know how he had managed to keep up his act for so long without going mad, much less being discovered. Had he been as frightened as she was?

She had to talk to Hermione and try to figure a way out of this, but she couldn't just walk into her office at the Ministry. She would have to wait for evening. She turned on the spot and Disapparated, happy at least to be away from the Dark Lord for the time being.

* * *

Hermione walked briskly through the cold night air, looking repeatedly over her shoulder. She had only five minutes to make it to the Burrow for dinner and didn't want to be late. The Burrow had been detached from the Floo network for security so she had to Apparate outside the wards now surrounding the Burrow and walk half a mile. The Ministry, viewing the Weasleys as an unrivalled family of heroes after the war, had gotten a little overzealous with the protections set up once Voldemort had returned, and though Hermione was happy they were safe, she didn't appreciate the added inconvenience, or the danger it put anyone in who had to travel to the Burrow. 

She didn't even realize she has been holding her breath until she let it out as she crossed beyond the wards and into the safety of the Burrow. Ever since the press conference that morning, she had been certain that Voldemort would be looking for her. Now that he knew she was effectively leading the movement against him, he was unlikely to leave her alone for long.

"Hermione!" went up like a roar around the table as she entered the kitchen of the Burrow. It was obvious from their enthusiasm at her presence, the redder than usual faces of the Weasley men and the general smell of the room that they had all been drinking copiously.

"Heriominy," Ron slurred, standing up and putting an arm around her shoulders. "I'm sorry I fought with you. Les get married."

A wolf whistle went up around the table and Hermione rolled her eyes at the Weasley men. They were all there: Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Percy and George, and they were all, evidently, exceedingly drunk.

"Why don't we talk about this later?" she said gently, extricating herself from Ron's embrace. "Where are the women?"

There was a general pointing of fingers toward the next room, and Hermione left them to their Firewhiskey.

Hermione entered the sitting room to find a much more sedate environment. Molly, Fleur, and Lavinia, George's new wife, were sitting by the fire, cooing over Bill and Fleur's daughter, Victoire.

"Where's Ginny?" Hermione asked, joining them.

"She went out," Molly answered.

"I think she 'ad a date," Fleur added conspiratorially, with only a trace of the accent she once had.

"Stop that, Fleur," Molly said, but there was a definite smile on her face.

Fleur went on: "She spent over an 'our primping. I 'aven't seen her look so pretty since the Yule Ball."

"Still," Molly interjected, "It would have been nice to have the whole family together. I'm sorry about dinner, Hermione. I simply can't cook in that kitchen with all the boys drinking. Lavinia told me about an ingenious thing the Muggles have called take-out. Have you heard of it?"

Hermione nodded, smiling.

"Brilliant, really. Sometimes I wonder if Muggles haven't caught up to us, you know. But Lavinia told them what we wanted through her cute little voice transmitter—"

"It's a cell phone, Molly."

"Right, and she'll be going to pick it up soon." Molly finished with a flourish and Hermione had to stifle a laugh.

"What brought on all the drinking?" Hermione asked, taking Victoire from Lavinia.

"Oh, you know," Fleur answered, evasively. "When they all get together…"

"And Ron wasn't really dealing very well with everything that's going on," Molly added, in a tone that was almost a reprimand toward Hermione. "I think they just wanted to try to cheer him up.

"Right," Hermione said defensively. "Did he tell you why he was so upset?"

The women shook their heads.

"He still doesn't want to get married until Harry can be there. I told him I didn't want to wait anymore and he accused me of being disloyal. He said that I don't care about Harry."

"But you might 'ave to wait forever!" Fleur said indignantly.

"That's what I said. I'm beginning to think he doesn't want to marry me after all."

"Oh don't be ridiculous, Hermione," Molly said firmly. "Ron has been in love with you since he was eleven years old. Have I ever told you about the note I found in his room the summer after your first year?"

Hermione shook her head and could feel her face growing warm already.

"I still remember it perfectly. I thought he was so young to be writing something like that, but then I saw you together and realized that you probably felt the same. He wrote:

"_Hermione, I know you probably don't like me like I like you, but I really like you. You're very smart and very pretty. Will you be my girlfriend? If you like Harry instead of me, that's okay, but you should tell me because I really like you. Love, your friend, Ron Weasley."_

All the women began to giggle before Molly had even finished.

"That's so cute," Lavinia and Fleur said together. Molly was smiling broadly.

"He's always loved you, Hermione. Weasley men are quick to love, but it just sometimes takes more than love to make him admit what he wants."

Fleur nodded sagely. "Bill tried to call off our wedding the day before we were to be married. I practically 'ad to drag him to the altar."

"Arthur was the same way."

"Oh please," Lavinia added. "You ladies think you had it hard? Think about who _I _married." All of the women burst out laughing so loudly that the men came into the living room alarmed. The panicked look on Ron's face as he stumbled in only made them laugh harder.

"What are you all laughing at?" George asked indignantly, standing up for his little brother, no doubt because of his drunkenness.

"At you dear," Lavinia said with a straight face.

"Well, I am rather funny, aren't I?"

"Actually, I was just telling your mother about how you ate a box of Puking Pastilles before our wedding, thinking I'd believe you were just sick, and how I had to trick you into taking a Portkey to get you to show up."

The men were laughing now too, but Bill looked nervous.

"Don't worry, Bill," Fleur said grinning. "I didn't tell them what you did."

"Come on, Heriminimy, have a drink," Ron said, obviously hoping to change the subject before his name came up. After some prodding from the rest of the group, Hermione agreed. She had been a bit stressed out lately, and a few drinks wouldn't hurt. The rest of the family (excluding Molly who insisted on taking care of Victoire so Fleur could relax and have fun), soon joined in.

The mood in the Burrow was slightly sedated, but they were soon roaring with laughter. Anyone who was watching would have had a hard time believing the family was under the threat of a Dark Lord who was once a part of their family. They were the Weasleys, Hermione realized, and as long as they still had each other, they would cope with whatever came their way. She never felt so happy to be considered one of them.

"I'm serious, Himirony," Ron said, hours later. "I want to marry you. I don't want to wait anymore either." He leaned in for a kiss that Hermione could tell would have left her drenched, but she pulled away.

"Let's talk about it when you are sober enough to say my name properly." She heard that her voice sounded a bit harsh and snooty, but she hoped the smile on her face was enough to let him know that things were all right between them. Her voice always took on this tone when she was drinking. She was the only person she knew who spoke _more_ formally when she was drunk.

"I'm not gonna change my mind," he slurred.

"Hermione," Molly said, coming into the kitchen. "I don't want any of you leaving tonight. I've set up a camp bed in Ginny's room for you."

"Aw, Mum," Ron said, struggling to bring his mother into focus. "Why can't she sleep in my room? You know we're getting married."

"What you do under your own roof is your business," she answered in a tone that made Hermione blush. "But in my house, you will not share a bed with a woman who isn't your wife."

Ron opened his mouth to protest but Hermione kicked him under the table and had to stifle a laugh as he looked around, confused, trying to figure out what had happened.

* * *

Hermione awoke to the familiar and welcome smell of breakfast at the Burrow and felt at home. She leapt out of bed without a thought for hangovers, or the Ministry, or for evil Dark Lords and headed downstairs. As she left the room, she noticed that Ginny's bed didn't look like it had been slept in. Had she come home at all? It was odd if she hadn't. Ginny hadn't been on a date since Harry, and Hermione didn't think she was the type of girl who would stay out all night with someone she barely knew. 

As Hermione entered the kitchen, the worry on Molly's face, and the way she kept glancing at her clock told Hermione that Ginny had in fact stayed out all night.

"Would you mind getting that dear?" Molly asked, without looking at Hermione.

Hermione moved toward the window sill where an owl was waiting for payment, clutching the Daily Prophet. The details of the press conference she and Kingsley had given the day before had been printed in a special edition of the Evening Prophet the night before, but Hermione was sure, as she took the paper from the owl, that Harry's transition would be front page news for a long time. Rita Skeeter wouldn't let something like this die and, for once, Hermione was grateful. It was important that they reached as many people as possible before Voldemort got to them and convinced them to join him.

Hermione unrolled the paper and immediately dropped it on the floor in front of her, as though she had been burned. _No_, she though. _He can't have done this already._

"What's the matter dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, eyeing her nervously from the sink.

Hermione took a deep breath and bent to pick up the paper. "Apparently," she said through gritted teeth, "Harry has capitalized on his influence over Rita Skeeter." Hermione began to read aloud. The headline read: _Harry Potter: Wrongfully accused._

_Harry Potter has certainly changed since he competed, as a mere boy of twelve, in the Triwizard Tournament. Then soft spoken, quiet, and insecure, the man now has the look of one who has seen the worst life has to offer, and has persevered through it. His face still bears vestiges of the five years he spent on the run from his misplaced guilt and from fame he felt was undeserved. "I felt like I was responsible for everyone who died," he says, his pain evident in his famously green eyes. "If I had only moved faster; if I had killed [expletive deleted sooner, then none of this would have happened." Modest and humble as always, he denies protests that he is singly responsible for those of us who survived the war: "Everyone sacrificed something. I'm no more a hero than anyone else who fought."_

_When asked to tell the story of that fateful night at Hogwarts, Harry is at first reluctant: "It's still not easy to talk about," he says. "I lost a lot of people I loved that night." But after gentle persuasion, he agrees, for the first time, to tell his story._

_You-know-who "had created a number of magical objects that would make him immortal until found and destroyed. My best friends Ron, Hermione and I spent a year tracking these objects down before he could be killed. It wasn't easy—we spent most of that year sleeping in tents in the snow, eating only what we could find in the forest. We were attacked by and escaped Death Eaters, and even [expletive deleted himself on many occasions. We had to break into the Ministry and Gringotts. Finally, on the same night as the Battle of Hogwarts, we learned that the last object was hidden in the school. [Expletive deleted…oh fine 'You-Know-Who,' is that better? Well, You-Know-Who knew what we had done and knew we were at Hogwarts, so he attacked the school. I managed to destroy the last one while everyone was fighting, but by then we were losing. It was then that pieces of the puzzle finally came together. You-Know-Who announced that I had one hour to give myself up, and he would stop fighting. I knew that wasn't true, but like I said, I was starting to put things together. _

_"I realized that the reason I survived when he tried to kill me when I was a baby could be used to protect everyone else. My mother died to save me, and because of that, Voldemort couldn't kill me. If I died to save everyone now, then he wouldn't be able to kill any of them. So I went into the forest without telling anyone what I was doing, and I let him kill me._

_"But things didn't go quite as he planned. It turned out that something he had done years ago kept me tethered to life, and I didn't die. And everyone knows what happened after that."_

_Shock doesn't begin to describe this reporter's feeling upon finally hearing the extent to which Harry sacrificed himself for our safety. He was truly willing to give up everything for us and, is even more of a hero than we have given him credit for._

_When asked about how he felt going into the forest, facing certain death, he just shrugs. "I was sad, you know. I was wearing an invisibility cloak so that no one would try to stop me, and it was really hard to walk away from the people I loved. It was the first time in my life I was acting separately from my then great friends, Ron and Hermione. They were loyal to the core and I felt like I was betraying them. Leaving Ginny, my girlfriend and soul mate, was even harder. I left her behind when I left to fight, and I was leaving her behind again, this time for good. But I knew I had to do it. I loved them all so much; I just wanted them to be safe."_

_In light of these revelations, it's difficult to imagine that there is any truth to the outrageous claims made yesterday by Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt, and former friend of Harry Potter, Hermione Granger. When asked about the betrayal of his "loyal" friend, it becomes obvious that it is difficult to talk about, but as always, he stays strong._

_"Hermione is just doing what she thinks is right, and I can't hold a grudge against her. She's always done what she thinks is best, even when we were eleven. But her ideas of what it right are usually based on a misplaced faith in authority. She doesn't like my ideas and she's using her place in the Ministry to create a reason for people not to agree with me."_

_And what are his ideas? All vestiges of the sad, broken man who appears when asked about the past disappear when asked this question. His eyes become fiery, his voice confident and sure. He is revealed as the born leader that he is. "Nothing changed when I killed [expletive deleted. Witches, Wizards, and magical beings are still being oppressed; the Ministry is still rife with corruption. It's time things changed and I'm here to see that they finally do."_

_And it's true that Harry has had first hand experience with a corrupt Ministry. As he speaks, he raises his hand and reveals scars etched there, still prominent though years have passed. The words "I must not tell lies," cut brutally into his hand with Ministry approval when he was still just a child, reminds us of the persecution he was once forced to suffer. Despite his ill usage by the hands of the Ministry, Harry stood firm in his insistence that the Dark Lord had returned, and was, unfortunately, proven to be correct. How different would things have been; how many lives could have been saved, if the incompetent leaders at the Ministry had not been in the pockets of Death Eaters, and had not obtusely denied Harry's claims? And how can we ever trust a Ministry that has blundered so badly in the past? Are we to believe the empty words of a Ministry that has so often failed us? Or are we to believe the strong assertions of the man who has never let us down? Can we afford to make the wrong choice twice?_

_"A wise man once told me that our choices are what make us who we are," Harry says passionately. "We must all choose between what is right, and what is easy. Even if we find it to be difficult, we owe it to each other stop oppression in the Wizarding world."_

"Oh, I can't _believe _this," Hermione shouted, slamming the paper down on the table in front of her.

"We'll handle it, dear," Molly said calmly, turning back to her sink.

Without another word, Hermione left the house and began rushing to pass the wards and Apparate directly to the Ministry. This would have to be dealt with immediately.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks so much to those of you who have been reviewing (especially The French Dark Lord who always makes me smile). Reviews make me post sooner and convince me that you're all actually reading rather than just accidentally hitting the alert button and never coming back. 

If anyone who is British, or who is better than I am at spotting Americanisms is following this story, it would be much appreciated if you would point out any errors I may be making. I hate Americanisms in stories, but I know that I use my share of them. (What do you call cell phones? I can't remember.)

And finally, I know I said all hell was going to break lose, but this story just needs so much to happen before that point if it's end up where I want it that all of the crazy-evil-harry-taking-over-the-world stuff keeps getting delayed. Hopefully it's still keeping you all interested. Let me know what you think! Reviews make my day!


	7. Understanding the Enemy

Harry paced back and forth in front of the fireplace in the library of Malfoy Manor, thinking. Things were going well despite the Order's pathetic interfering with his plans. The announcement to the Wizarding public had been a setback, but he had handled it well. He knew Rita Skeeter and knew that she would print anything as long as it would be read. He gave the interview knowing that he wouldn't need to work to persuade her to print it the way he wanted it—he actually let her have free reign over the article and it turned out more to his advantage than he could have expected. Rita had painted him as the tragic hero who had sacrificed everything for what he believed in, and was now prepared to sacrifice more. Her accusations against the Ministry had been a particularly appreciated touch, and her allusions to his younger, more innocent self must have created huge amounts of sympathy for him. Rita's article not only counteracted the Ministry's announcement, but it paved the way for him to accrue even more followers than he had now. Who was going to deny the Boy-Who-Lived now?

But still, there was trouble in his ranks. There was a spy, he was sure of it. How else could the Mudblood have known of his plans? There were few among his ranks he felt capable enough to deceive him. It was not an easy task and, once upon a time, he had thought no one could be skilled enough at Occlumency to keep him—no, to keep Voldemort fooled, but Severus Snape, that unforgivable traitor, had proven him wrong.

He would soon know, though. He felt his plan was particularly good. Ginny had agreed to join him and to act as spy, but that wasn't enough. He knew she was loyal—she was so powerless against him that he could read every passing thought in her mind, but she might still have some loyalties toward her family. He asked Parvati to act as spy as well. She was suspect, but he didn't really think she was capable of producing Occlumency shields strong enough to deceive him. She had no idea that Ginny was loyal to him, and not to the Order. He would be immediately able to rule Parvati out as a spy if she reported back that Ginny was among the Order, or if her reports differed from those of Ginny. Then, if he found he could trust Parvati, he could rely on her information to catch whomever had betrayed him. When he did find the spy, he or she would not go unpunished.

Though there was a spy, things were not going badly. He purposely kept his Liberators separate from each other, and told none of them his full plans. No single person could reveal everything, and this gave him a certain amount of security. It was regrettable that he had been forced out into the open so soon, but now things could move along at a quicker pace, and he would soon be in a position to take complete control.

If things moved the way he expected, the Wizarding community would soon be calling for the complete reshuffling of the Ministry. Though Shacklebolt was admittedly a more than capable leader, Harry knew the Wizarding public wouldn't be so quick to trust again. Hopefully they had learned their lesson and would now, at the slightest suggestion of corruption, seek to end it.

At that point, anyone Harry backed would almost definitely secure the office of Minister. He could do it himself, he knew, but he had bigger plans for himself. If things moved as he expected, there would be no need for a stealth infiltration of the Ministry; no need for the Imperius curse or for "mysterious" deaths. He would succeed in this particular part of his plan in a completely legal way that couldn't be contested. What would Granger do then, he mused, when her Ministry was taken over by the force she was fighting? He allowed a brief smile to flitter across his lips. Yes, things were going well. Soon he would have the power that was rightfully his.

* * *

Hermione Apparated directly into the Ministry and couldn't help but notice the anxious looks on the faces of the Ministry workers rushing by her. What were they thinking? Had they believed Rita's article? Or were they worried because they believed her and Kingsley's side of the story? 

She was still shaking with rage over the article she had read mere moments ago. How could Harry, no, Voldemort. How could Voldemort have manipulated things so much to his advantage? There was enough truth in the article to make it believable. The Horcrux hunt, Harry sacrificing himself in the Forest, Harry's former persecution by and the past mistake of the Ministry: They all contained enough truth and were written in such a way to evoke sympathy, and it would definitely sway more than a few people to Voldemort's side. _But it was a lie!_ she thought angrily.

Harry hadn't known that by sacrificing himself he would be giving blood protection to everyone else, and he hadn't left because of guilt or unwanted fame. And these things didn't even matter because what Harry had done five years ago was irrelevant: For all intents and purposes Harry Potter no longer existed. Harry sacrificed himself, yes, but Voldemort was the one against whom they were now fighting. The article hadn't even addressed the deaths of the Centaurs or the suggestion that Harry was being possessed by Voldemort. Would people just ignore those significant facts? Were they really so easily led that they wouldn't question him? Of course she and Kingsley had had no proof of their allegations, but couldn't people trust that they wouldn't just make something like that up?

Trust: That was really what it came down to. What reason did the Wizarding public have to trust anyone, especially the Ministry? Yes, the Ministry had changed significantly after the war, but she herself had to admit that things hadn't changed as much as they should have. Though Voldemort's promises of liberation for all magical creatures were empty, she knew, the fact of their oppression was undeniable. Muggleborns were now effectively equal, but anyone of "lesser" standing was still denied rights and persecuted by both the Wizarding public and by the Ministry itself. Werewolves were still ostracized (especially by anyone who had experience with Greyback), Vampires, Goblins, Giants, and House Elves, as well as every other sort of magical creature, were still denied basic rights. Not only that, but Wizards too were still being oppressed, though that aspect had undergone a complete reversal. It was partially justified, but those who had sympathized with Voldemort, or who were suspected to have done, or had been in Slytherin, or who were Purebloods who hadn't fought directly against him were now the lowest degree in society. They were unable to find work and were constantly harassed by both the general public, and sometimes even by the Ministry itself. They were being punished for crimes that couldn't be proven against them and many of them, Hermione knew, had never done anything more than be born to certain families. It was the exact same thing, she was realizing now for the first time, as had been done to her and other Muggleborns: They were being punished for their blood status. They really hadn't learned anything, had they?

Voldemort's promises were empty, but that didn't mean his words didn't hold true. He was right about the need for change, but was using it to manipulate people into following him to his ultimate goals of control. There would be change, yes, but not of the kind people would expect. Voldemort would use them to gain what he wanted and leave them worse off than they were before. Would they really be willing to follow him blindly? Would they see, once his true goals became apparent, what it would cost them? Would they fight? Or would they let him usher them willingly into a new era of terror and control?

Hermione walked right past her office door without realizing. It took Kingsley rushing past her, looking as frantic as it was possible for the cool, calm man to be, to break her from her reverie.

"Kingsley," she said, stopping him in his tracks. "What's going on?"

"You don't know?" he answered, turning to face her. She shook her head.

"Have you been outside?"

"No, why?"

"They're protesting. They're calling for my resignation. They want the charges dropped against Harry, and they want, well they want a revolution."

Hermione felt her face freeze with shock. This couldn't be happening.

"They can't!" she said finally. "How many of them are there? Just a few protestors won't get you a Vote of No Confidence."

Kingsley rather stupidly moved toward the window before realizing that they were underground. Seeing him so flustered, the man who had always seemed confident in the face of fire, made Hermione begin to feel panicked herself.

"Kingsley, how many are there?" she asked again, her voice beginning to rise in pitch.

"I don't know—Hundreds maybe. Even some of my own men are out there."

"Okay," Hermione said, taking a deep breath. If Kingsley was going to choose this of all moments to finally lose control, someone would have to take it. "We can handle this. You need to make a statement. You need to reassure them. I'll help. I can clarify some of what was misconstrued in Rita's article."

"Do you really think they'll believe us?" His eyes were uncharacteristically wide and she felt a sharp stab of pity for the man she still respected above almost all others.

"Most of them won't, but we need to try. We can't let him win this easily."

"You're right," Kingsley said, and Hermione watched as he began to regain control of himself. Before her eyes, he slowly reformed into the confident man she knew. "I'll go prepare my speech. You might want to think about changing your clothes."

Hermione looked down and realized for the first time that, in her rush to get to the Ministry, she had just thrown a cloak over the pajamas she had borrowed from Ginny, and that she hadn't even brushed her wild hair. She probably still reeked of alcohol as well.

"Okay," Hermione answered. "We'll meet upstairs in ten minutes. Is that enough?"

Kingsley nodded curtly and spun away from her, heading back to his office.

Twelve minutes later Hermione found herself again standing before a crowd, waiting for her turn to speak, but this time it was an entirely different environment. They were shouting, calling both her and Kingsley terrible names, and calling for both of their resignations.

_Of course_, she thought to herself, _they choose _this _moment to finally question the Ministry. They choose _this _moment to finally stand up for themselves and each other. They couldn't have done this seven years ago?_

Kingsley raised his hand and to Hermione's surprise, the crowd ceased shouting. Kingsley really did command respect by his mere presence. He began to speak:

"The Ministry is no longer the corrupt institution it was five years ago. Changes have been made to insure that the Ministry only acts in the best interests of the people, and does so honestly, and openly. The statement made yesterday was truth. The interview in this morning's Daily Prophet was a convoluted misconstruing of fact. Miss Granger will address you in a moment—"

"Traitor!"

"Miss Granger will address the lies present in that article in a moment, but I would like to first urge you to question the faith you are placing in Harry Potter. Harry was an incredible man. He sacrificed everything for the good of the people. He is, without question, the truest form of hero. But Harry Potter is no longer the beacon of hope, or the savior he once was. Voldemort has taken control of him and is using his reputation to again achieve total control. We have been given information that his goals do not end with domination over Wizarding society, but that he will persist until he has taken control over Muggles as well. Do not let Voldemort manipulate you into believing he is Harry Potter. Do not help him usher in a new day of terror, and of tyranny. Do not follow blindly, whether it is Harry Potter you are following, Voldemort, or the Ministry. Question anyone who asks you to believe something without telling you exactly why. You are not mindless, and should not allow yourselves to be so easily led. Do this for yourselves, but above all, do this _for _Harry Potter: the boy who sacrificed everything so that we may live free. Don't let his sacrifices be in vain."

"A bit harsh, don't you think?" Hermione whispered as Kingsley stepped aside to make room for her.

"Harsh but necessary," he answered before introducing her. She was met again by angry shouts, but she spoke above them.

"The article written by Rita Skeeter in today's Daily Prophet was an intricate and well planned lie, with enough half-truths to appear valid. I was with Harry during those awful times, and I can attest to the truth, and therefore the lies, behind certain statements that were made."

She went on to dissect the article line by line, finally making the choice to tell them about the Horcruxes. It was dangerous knowledge, but as Kingsley said, they shouldn't be expected to follow anyone without being given a valid reason. She explained that Harry hadn't known that he would be affording the same protection to them as his mother had placed on him. She explained that he went into the forest to sacrifice himself, yes, but because he needed to eradicate the part of Voldemort's soul that had been unintentionally placed in him. She explained, in precise terms, that Voldemort's soul hadn't been destroyed, and that it had clung to Harry's, eventually taking control.

"If that's true," someone said from the crowd, "and Potter is really Voldemort, then from what you're saying, he shouldn't be able to hurt any of us, because Harry died to protect us."

"Yes, but he is no longer merely Voldemort. His soul has melded with Harry's, creating an entirely new being, I believe. The protection is no longer valid."

There was some murmuring in the crowd as Hermione finished, but she wasn't sure she had convinced any of them. A few of their number dissipated as she and Kingsley went back inside, but many of them stayed.

"We need proof if we want them to believe us," she said to Kingsley.

"But how can we get any?" Kingsley asked.

Hermione didn't answer as she fell into her own thoughts.

* * *

It was September first, Hermione realized as she Apparated outside the boar flanked gates of Hogwarts to find them open and admitting Thestral drawn carriages. She realized with a start that she could now see Thestrals for the first time. She had taken her N.E.W.T.s without seventh year instruction, and hadn't been back to Hogwarts since the war. She thought back to when Harry first began talking about them, and wondered how he must have felt to have his grief manifested in the form of these gruesome winged horses. 

A series of images and memories of Harry suddenly flashed in her memory, accompanied by a long overdue understanding. The suffering Harry must have felt had always been a given to her. She had accepted that he suffered more than most other children from the moment she had met him on the Hogwarts express, and from that moment on, it had never really entered her thoughts in a new or altered way. Year after year his suffering was compounded by new struggles, new deaths, and new overwhelming responsibilities and obligations. In his fifth year, he first began to succumb to the grief that should have consumed him years before, and she, believing herself to be wise and mature beyond her age, had attributed it to nothing more than typical adolescent angst. He began that year to show signs of weakness, but she hadn't acknowledged it as valid, and then in their sixth year, it simply went away. He had grown up and learned to accept his fate, she had thought at the time.

She knew Harry had suffered, and had faced more in his life than anyone could have expected, but she had never really credited him for the way he had handled the pressure, guilt and grief under which most would have cracked. She had, she realized now, made him feel as though he shouldn't feel the way he did, and that he was weak if he allowed himself to dwell on it. She thought at the time that she was helping him.

She wondered now if he had really ever accepted his fate, or if he had only learned to keep his feelings from her, knowing that she would just invalidate them. She wondered if her inability to even attempt to understand him had led to his weakness in resisting Voldemort's presence in his mind. She saw herself as a friend loyal beyond compare. She saw herself as always standing by him, no matter what, and sacrificing everything to help him in his fate; in his destiny. She saw herself as someone to be applauded.

But now, as the full weight of what was happening to the boy who had once defended her from a Mountain Troll hit her for the first time, she realized that nothing she had done could ever compare to what he had done himself. She could have been there for him more. She _should_ have been there for him more. She should have realized that accompanying him on his fated quest and through his destined trials wasn't enough. She could have done more.

Above all, she shouldn't have questioned him in St. Mungo's. Hadn't he earned her trust years ago? If she stuck by him through as much as she did, why did she finally choose to abandon him when he needed her the most? Was this almost entirely her fault?

She watched as the final carriage passed through the gates and made to follow, but was thrown back with force by an invisible barrier.

_Of course, _she thought, _they're not just going to let anyone walk in._

A few moments later she was greeted by the friendly face of Neville Longbottom.

"I saw that someone tried to breach the wards and came to see what was going on," he explained as he removed the protections so she could enter. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to talk to Professor McGonagall, and to see if I could find some proof of what Voldemort did in the forest."

Neville nodded as he gestured for her to cross the threshold.

"I can't believe what's happening," he said as they walked side by side toward the castle. "Can he really be winning this easily?"

Hermione wasn't really paying attention. She was too busy watching the flashes of the Battle that were currently assaulting her memory. Being here for the first time since that night was harder than she could have imagined.

"How do you do it, Neville?" she asked, ignoring his question. "How do you face this place everyday and not go mad from the memories?" Neville had started apprenticing Professor Sprout the year before and had now taken charge of the younger classes. He would soon be taking over for the woman completely when she retired next year.

Neville shrugged in response. "This place is more for me than just the Battle," he answered. "I have six years of incredible memories here. I found friends here, and I was happy. One year of rebelling alongside my friends, and a few hours of fighting, don't make me forget that this place is my one true home."

His one true home. Isn't that what Harry had always said about the school? And how Tom Riddle had felt as well? She suddenly felt a wave of sympathy for Neville: Much like she had done with Harry, she had never really offered much consideration for his suffering.

"So I heard you've been seeing Hannah Abbot," she chided gently, trying to lighten his mood as well as her own.

"Yeah," he answered somewhat bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck. "She owns the Three Broomsticks now, and I've been going into Hogsmeade to see her now and then."

Hermione stopped listening as they climbed the steps of the castle into the entrance hall. She turned back and faced the open double doors, looking out onto the darkened grounds. She saw clearly the image of Hagrid, flanked by Death Eaters and Voldemort himself, carrying the lifeless form of her best friend toward the school. She remembered vividly how she had felt that night as she completely and definitively lost hope, but she remembered most of all the complete and utter despair that overcame her when she realized she would never again look into the familiar face, or those brilliant green eyes that she had grown so accustomed to being ever present in her life. She would never again grow frustrated by his "saving people thing" or look on with admiration as he grew into the man he became. She would never again laugh with him, or chide him about his schoolwork. She remembered how, in that moment, the war and Voldemort became real to her in a way that the terrible events that preceded that night had never done. She had lost one of her first and truest friends and even if they somehow managed to win the war, her life would never be the same.

And then he had appeared seemingly from nowhere in the Great Hall to save them all. He had conquered death itself, and managed to fulfill his destiny and eradicate evil once and for all. Life still wouldn't be quite the same for any of them, but she had Harry and Ron by her side, and that fact alone was enough to sustain her.

How wrong she had been.

Mere days later, Harry left them. She hated him for it; insisting that he was being infinitely selfish in leaving. She knew now that she had been entirely wrong, and that his decision had been entirely selfless. She should have trusted in him. She should have known better.

"The sorting's about to start," Neville said gently, seemingly reluctant to interrupt her thoughts. "I have to get in there. Do you want to watch?"

Hermione nodded and followed Neville into the immense hall where she had once felt hope, and now felt nothing but despair.

* * *

Harry turned as Sinon Jones, senior undersecretary to the Minister, and one of Harry Potter's Liberators entered the room. 

"My Lord," he said bowing. "It has begun within the Ministry itself. Even many top officials and senior members of the Wizengamot are calling for Shacklebolt's resignation. He will not be permitted to cling to his post for much longer."

"Excellent," Harry replied. "I have not quite decided, but I believe you shall take his place."

"My Lord?" he questioned. "I am honored, but I assumed you would take the position."

"I do not need the title to achieve my aims," he answered honestly. "And if all goes as planned, Minister for Magic will soon be an all but obsolete position." He had said too much, but Jones didn't question him. No one with intelligence ever questioned him.

"I have more good news as well," Jones continued. "As you instructed, the head of the Auror department has been Imperiused, and has now found evidence clearing many Death Eaters who have been wrongfully imprisoned in Azkaban. They are being released as we speak."

"Good. You have been very loyal Jones. I do not forget."

Without another word, Harry swept from the room. It was time to enact the next step in his plans.


	8. Free Harry Potter

Hermione took her time navigating through the crowds of students heading to their dormitories as she wound her way through the familiar halls of Hogwarts toward the Headmistress' office.

She had watched the sorting and eagerly sat for the feast, savoring the long missed taste of a Hogwarts meal. She didn't even let herself feel guilty about all of the House-elves who had prepared it.

Professor McGonagall had been detained by an issue with one of her students (Hermione hadn't seen it, but it looked like someone had been transfigured into a porcupine. Some things never changed). She had been instructed to wait for the Headmistress in her office.

She approached the gargoyle and gave it the password, pleased to see that it had fully recovered from its injuries.

Her eyes roamed the office as she entered, ignoring the one spot on the wall at which she most wanted to look. What would she say to him?

"Hello again, Miss Granger."

Her eyes immediately snapped to the portrait hanging in the place of honor behind the head's desk. Familiar, piercing blue eyes met her gaze.

"Hello, Professor."

"I have heard some unsettling news as of late."

Hermione averted her eyes again.

"From what Minerva has told me, you have been handling my old post expertly."

She blushed, but still didn't speak. She had never really had many dealings with Professor Dumbledore in life, and it was even more awkward to be speaking to the dead man's portrait. She was happy, at least, that she hadn't been the one who had to break the news of Harry's predicament to him.

"What can I do?" she squeaked finally, hearing the fear and uncertainty in her voice and hating herself for it. She had been maintaining a strong and capable front for those who needed to see it in her, but here, in the presence of the man she had always trusted to handle everything, she found herself reverting to a helpless little girl that she had never really been.

"Ah, Miss Granger," he said kindly. "You have been given a terrible load of responsibility to bear, but most often, those who are reluctant to wield power are those who bear it most well."

"But I don't have any power," she insisted. "I'm helpless against this. I have nothing but authority over a small, mismatched group of average wizards."

"The original Order was no different and accomplished much, but that is of no consequence. I am certain that the Order will have much to do with keeping this particular evil at bay, and little to do with actually eradicating it."

"What do you mean?"

"Of course I can only guess, and I must admit, the conjecture of a portrait is not the most reliable source of counsel, but I think, in the end, knowing Harry Potter will be what is of importance. And that is something I believe you do exceedingly well."

"I'm beginning to wonder about that," she admitted, but was cut short when Professor McGonagall entered the room.

"Not trying to give advice again, are you Albus?" she said, sweeping around her desk. She pointed over her shoulder at the portrait. "I wouldn't rely too heavily on him, Miss Granger. He has become extremely cryptic as of late." She spoke harshly, but there was a hint of amusement etched in her features.

"So what is it that you wanted to speak with me about, Hermione?"

"Well, I was wondering if you could tell me any more about what you found in the forest. Was there any evidence of what happened?"

"You mean evidence that it was Harry?"

"Voldemort," Hermione corrected stubbornly, but nodded.

"Unfortunately, we have no proof that it was him except the word of your spy. Is there any chance he or she would be willing to sacrifice his post to give testimony?"

"Probably, but having a spy is too valuable to give up."

McGonagall nodded. "You're welcome to search the forest yourself, but I must warn you, the beings there have become particularly defensive."

"I suppose I'll have to," Hermione sighed. She was not looking forward to entering the forest again. "Is there any chance you can spare your Care of Magical Creatures professor for a while?"

Barely ten minutes later, Hermione found herself entering the Forbidden Forest with a very sedate Hagrid and the now impossibly old Boarhound Fang. Hermione tried to make conversation with Hagrid, but he didn't seem very willing to talk. She knew from previous experiences with him that, like many others, he wasn't handling Harry's transition well.

After walking for only a few minutes, Hermione began to feel her face grow warm in the cool night air. A low but violent, sinister hiss of sloshing liquid could be heard, accompanied every now and then by a loud pop or crackling that echoed through the uncommonly quiet forest.

They entered into a clearing and Hermione's jaw dropped. She had heard, of course, but seeing it was something entirely different.

A massive pit of lava, spewing sparks and bubbles of liquid fire lit the dark night. It stretched angrily across the ground, leaping up and burning trees surrounding it. It seemed almost alive. She moved as close to it as she safely could. This was where an entire heard of Centaurs, some of whom she knew, had died. It stood here still as evidence of the atrocity that shouldn't have ever happened. Her eyes began to burn both from the heat, and from her suppressed tears.

A sudden movement in the trees beside her caught her eyes, and Hermione squinted through the fog and smoky haze to discern a young girl's face peering out at her.

"Hello?" she said tentatively. "Hello, are you a student?"

The girl stepped out into the clearing and Hermione drew her breath: It was a young Centaur.

Hagrid and Hermione both rushed to her.

"Are you here to kill me too?" she asked quietly and calmly, stopping Hermione in her tracks.

"No, of course not. Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm okay. I'm all alone, but I'm not hurt if that's what you mean."

"Are you…Are you…the last one?"

The child nodded.

"But how did you survive?"

"My parents made me stay behind while they confronted Harry Potter. I followed but they didn't know it. I watched from right here while he killed them all and flew away." She said all of this in a flat, detached tone that broke Hermione's heart.

"It will be okay," Hermione said, putting her own interests aside. "Hagrid, can we take her back to the castle?"

"No!" the girl said, suddenly fierce. "I don't want to go with wizards. This is my home. The forest is my home. Even if I'm all alone I want to stay here."

Hermione stood staring at the young girl, not quite sure how to proceed.

"We won't make you go," she said finally. "But we can take care of you. We can help you."

"No," the girl answered, now more calmly. "I want to stay here."

Hermione didn't want to ask her next question, but she knew she had to.

"I'm from the Ministry for Magic. Do you know what that is?"

The girl nodded.

"We want to catch the man who did this, and you're the only person who saw what happened. You're the only one who can prove what he did. Will you come with me for just a little while, so we can punish the one who did this, and keep him from doing anything like this again?"

The girl considered her for a moment before speaking. "I am very young, but I know the ways of your Ministry. I know that, to you and your kind, I am nothing more than a barbarous animal. You will use me for your own purposes. I cannot trust what you say. The demon who did this will suffer: the stars have foretold it, but I will not help you."

Without another word, the girl galloped away from them at a startling pace. Hermione made to follow, but Hagrid held her back.

"Let her go," he said gruffly. "She's only bein' a Centaur, and we shouldn't take that from her too."

"That's ridiculous, Hagrid," Hermione answered, but she didn't try to go after the girl. Maybe Hagrid had a point.

* * *

Hermione parted with Hagrid at the edge of the forest, feeling dejected. As she made her way back through the gates and out into the night, she wondered how she was ever going to prove her accusations. Should she go back with a team of Aurors and force the young Centaur to come with her? Could she bring herself to do that?

There was an unseasonable chill in the air and Hermione was reminded forcibly of Dementors. She was only a few steps from the Hogwarts grounds when a voice broke through the silent night.

"Hello, Hermione."

She spun around to face the familiar voice, drawing her wand as she did, but it flew from her hand before she had even finished turning.

"Hello, Voldemort," she said calmly, making no move to run.

"That is one point on which I fear we must agree to disagree."

Hermione clenched her fists. She was standing against Voldemort defenseless, but she felt no fear, only overwhelming anger. She was looking into the now gaunt and pale face of the man who had been by her side for seven years. She was hearing the voice of the man she had known and loved for most of her life. She was looking into the once brilliant, now deadened green eyes of the boy she had once placed infinite trust in, and he was raising his wand at her, likely with the intention to kill. She felt no fear, only the desire to pummel the man before her until she physically forced that vile being from his soul. She felt like she might throw up.

"Harry, are you going to let him kill me?" she asked, meeting his eyes.

He laughed, humorlessly.

"No, Hermione. I have other uses for you."

"Harry will never let you hurt me," Hermione said, sticking her chin out and reminding herself of a stubborn child.

"Hermione, you must abandon this hope that I am not Harry Potter. You would do well to accept that I _am_ Harry, and that I am working toward the greater good."

Hermione scoffed. "If you were Harry, you would know better than to use that phrase in front of me."

"Why, because it is the term Grindewald used? I know more than you think, girl. I know everything now that I knew then, but I have grown beyond that boy who thought he knew everything. I have embraced a different side of magic, the more powerful side, and I intend to use those powers for good. I intend to use them for 'the greater good,' so why shouldn't I say what I mean? You once believed in these things too, do you not remember? What happened to S.P.E.W? What happened to your indignation at the treatment of werewolves? You cared about these things once. When did that change? When the Ministry started writing your paychecks?"

Hermione snorted. "I'm not fooled by you, Voldemort."

"You always were a clever girl, but you never had wisdom."

"And I suppose you think you're 'wise' now?"

"Yes, actually. I have gained incredible wisdom, beyond what a child like you could ever imagine, and I intend to use it to take what is rightfully mine."

"You're confusing wisdom with evil."

He laughed. "There is no good and evil: Only power, and those too weak to seek it."

"Are you still selling that same old line? It didn't work on an eleven year old boy; do you really think it will work on me?"

It was almost imperceptible, but for a moment, she saw in his eyes a gleam of red. He regained himself quickly.

"I do not expect you to see anything but that which your blind faith in authority allows you to see. You have been a good puppet for the Ministry. I once thought we could change you, Ron and I. I now see that there never was a chance."

"Harry, don't you see what he's doing!" she shouted, suddenly angry. "He's manipulating your memories. He's using the knowledge he's gained from you to manipulate the people you care about. Don't you remember how much you hated having him in your head all those years ago? You don't have to let him do this!"

"Enough," he said firmly. "I am finished conversing with such a narrow minded fool."

"What do you plan to do with me?" she asked, speaking more bravely than she felt.

"To do with you?" he chuckled. "The correct question is: what do you plan to do with me?"

She had no idea what he meant, but she didn't want to admit her confusion.

"Here," he said, and to her surprise, he tossed her wand back to her. Then, in an even more unexpected move, he tossed his wand as well. She missed it when he threw it and had to scramble to pick it up from the ground. She shuddered as she realized that it was the Elder Wand.

"Not done playing around in Dumbledore's tomb yet, I see," she mumbled, straightening back up and pocketing his wand. She trained hers on him and narrowed her eyes. "What are you playing at?"

"I am 'playing at' nothing," he said innocently. "I am, as they say, turning myself in."

"Why?" she asked suspiciously.

"The Ministry thinks I have done wrong," he said with an infuriating smile. "I would like to give them a chance to prove their allegations. I do not want to be on the 'wrong side of the law.'"

Hermione hesitated. She knew this must be some kind of trick, but what could she do? She couldn't just let him walk away.

"Fine," she said after a moment, conjuring ropes and tying his hands securely behind his back. She wasn't sure why, but she used her hands to do so. Her hand momentarily brushed his and she felt him shudder. It was almost imperceptible, but she felt it all the same.

She stepped back in front of him and pointed her wand at him again.

"Accio hidden wand," she said. Nothing happened.

"Accio magical object." Again, nothing happened.

"Accio Muggle weapon." This last one was along shot, but she didn't want to take any chances.

He smiled as she looked at him, trying to figure out what he was planning.

Finally, when she saw no other option, she reached out her hand to grab his arm and Disapparate, but pulled it back at the last moment. She wanted to say something, but she didn't know how. What could she possibly say? It was Voldemort standing before her, not Harry, but it was hard to remember that when she was looking into the face of her best friend.

She shook her head and grabbed his wrist.

"I miss you, Harry," she said, and without waiting for a response, she turned on the spot and Apparated with him to the Ministry.

* * *

_Near riots erupted outside the Ministry for Magic last night as Harry Potter was taken into custody by none other than Hermione Granger. His comments as he walked past the crowd of onlookers, head held high, suggested that he had turned himself in. "I haven't done anything wrong," he said. "If they hold me it will be illegally. I wanted to give them their chance to prove their allegations against me." Harry's convictions that his revolutionary actions have been well within the scope of the law seem more than valid, but the Ministry had him transferred to Azkaban late last night._

_Protesters still gathered around the Ministry this morning wave signs and wear t-shirts bearing the now famous slogan "Free Harry Potter," and shout for the resignation of Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt. The riot has caused a near total walkout at the Ministry. It is rumored that only a few Ministry employees remain inside, while top officials protest the arrest of Harry Potter by their own employer. Thus far, the Ministry has remained silent, refusing to comment on the situation unfolding. There has been no word of Harry Potter's condition as he braves the prison once inhabited by those he fought valiantly against…_

"What are we going to do?" Hermione asked warily, as she grew so disgusted she couldn't continue to read.

Kingsley looked utterly defeated as he sat down in the chair opposite her desk. "There's nothing we can do."

"Kingsley—" she protested.

"I have to resign."

"NO! If you do that, he wins."

"I have no choice. They'll have me arrested soon if I don't leave of my own will. This way I can still continue to work against him."

"No," Hermione said, but with less conviction this time. "If he takes the Ministry, there won't be any way to stop him."

"Well, even without it, we haven't been doing a very good job of that, have we?"

"Kingsley, no. You're Minister. Can't you just…I don't know…arrest them all or something?"

Kingsley looked at her for a long time, but didn't speak.

Finally he just stood up. "It's time. I don't think it will be safe for you here. It might be best if you Floo out."

"Kingsley," she pleaded. "Please."

He swept from the office without another word.

With one last look around the office that Hermione had worked so hard to attain, she threw a pinch of Floo Powder into the fire and stepped in.

* * *

Hermione arrived at Ron's flat in Hogsmeade and felt a sudden burst of panic. He wasn't there. She rushed down the stairs into the shop, calling for him, and didn't stop until she met George, confusedly staring at her. "What's going on?" He asked.

"Ron. Where is he?"

"Relax, Hermione. He's manning the shop on Diagon Alley today."

Hermione let out a sigh of relief.

"Come on," George said. "Let's get you some tea."

He had become much more concerned for others lately, and Hermione got the distinct impression that it was Lavinia's doing. She liked Lavinia very much, not least of all because she was actually capable of being married to a Weasley twin. She loved him for who he was, and would never ask him to change, but she definitely proved to be a good influence on him. She didn't take his crap, and she had been one of the major factors that pulled him out of the depression that seized him after Fred's death.

Hermione found herself being led back upstairs by George, and before she knew it, a cup of tea had been thrust in her hand.

"Bad day at they office?" he asked sarcastically, sitting down on the couch beside her. She could tell he had seen the paper.

"Oh, all and all not so bad," she answered, sipping her tea. "You know, Kingsley resigned, I effectively got sacked, and Voldemort has taken control again but like I said, all and all, not such a bad day."

George groaned and rubbed the place where his ear should be. It was a habit he had adopted during the war, and she noticed he did it whenever he thought about death or violence. She could tell he hadn't yet heard the news that she had just given him.

"What are we going to do?" he asked.

Why was everyone always asking her that? Why did she have to be the one in charge?

"Oh, I don't know," she answered, rubbing her eyes. "I suppose we should just give up and let him take over. Maybe it won't be so bad. I always kind of liked Voldemort: That whole snake-like slit for nostril thing was kind of sexy."

George gaped at her and it was a few moments before comprehension dawned on his face and he realized she was joking.

"What?" she asked. "Is it that rare that I make a joke?"

"No," he answered. "It's just rare that they're actually that funny."

She threw one of the small pillows that were beside her on the couch at him before standing up.

"I really would like to find Ron," she said. "I know it will be a while before Harry—I mean Voldemort is organized enough within the Ministry to send anyone after us, but I'm fairly certain he will eventually. We should speak to your parents about going into hiding."

"They won't do it," George answered.

"Have you asked them?"

"No, but you know how mum is. She still insists that Harry won't ever let him do anything to hurt us."

Hermione snorted. "After last night, I'm not entirely sure."

"What do you mean?" George asked. "What happened anyway?"

Hermione sighed. She really didn't want to tell anyone about what had happened, but she felt like she needed to discuss it with someone, and George really had become a good friend to her.

"He met me outside Hogwarts and we talked for a while, and then he told me to arrest him. It was that simple."

George looked at her and she knew he was expecting more.

"The thing was," she continued reluctantly, "When I was talking to him, I felt like…well, no, I felt like I was talking to Voldemort. His manner of speaking and the things he was saying were all very much like Voldemort, but there was something about his mannerisms, and about his eyes and facial expressions that almost made me feel like I was talking to Harry."

To Hermione's surprise, George laughed. "You don't suppose it could have had anything to do with the fact that you _were_ talking to someone in Harry's body for the first time really in over five years?"

"Yes, I'm sure that's part of it," she said, brushing off his dismissal. "But I can't really explain it. It just _felt_ like Harry. Maybe I'm losing it."

"I don't think you're losing it, but I think it's hard to separate them when he's using Harry's voice and body."

"Yes, you're probably right," she said, not really convinced. "I really should go."

"Okay. Tell Ron to stop borrowing from the register."

"I will," Hermione said, stepping into the fire.

Hermione fell to her knees as she came out on the other side and hadn't even gathered her bearings before she was roughly pulled to her feet.

"I got the girl," the Auror she recognized as Dawlish shouted.

_Foolish_, she thought: He wasn't even looking at her. He had grabbed her by her _left _arm and didn't seem to see her as a threat. With little effort, she pulled her wand from her pocket and stunned him. She placed the full body bind curse on him and couldn't resist stepping on him as she walked past.

She crept slowly through the room and saw something that made her praise the inventions of Fred and George more than she ever thought to before. A pair of extendable ears was lying on the mantle. She picked it up and slowly crept to the staircase leading down into the shop. She let the ears slowly trickle down and began to listen to the conversation coming from below.

"Do you think we should still wait?" an unfamiliar voice asked. "Runcorn already brought in Weasley, and if he's got Granger, I don't think anyone else will show up here."

"You're probably right." She cringed as she recognized the voice of Gordon Meyers, her assistant at the Ministry. "They'll probably need help bringing everyone in from Ottery St. Catchpole."

"Dawlish, you coming or what?" the first voice shouted and Hermione dropped her extendable ears and ran back to the fireplace. She had to get to the Burrow.

* * *

**A/N:** Eternal thanks to those who took the time to review! Nothing makes me smile more.


	9. In a Different Life

Hermione was panicking. She knew from an outside perspective she might look to be calm and in control, but anyone who really knew her would be able to tell the truth from her hair. She didn't believe Harry when he first told her, and it took Ron teasing her about it for her to finally concede but it was a fact: When she was really nervous, her normally bushy hair got so frizzy and staticy it stood up to new heights. She supposed it had something to do with her magical energy, and in a different life, she might have been in a position to research the genes that created magic and whether an electric charge emanated from a magical core. In a different life, her funny "hair problem" as they had taken to calling it, might have turned into a scholarly quest lauded by the most accomplished wizards. But this was not a different life. This was _her_ life, and instead of researching the science behind wizardry, she was pacing the kitchen in the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, planning her fiancé's escape from prison, waiting for those she loved to arrive, and hoping that they hadn't been killed by her best friend.

"Hermione," someone said gently from the table and she spun to face them.

"What?" she asked, but her hair was so wild it was obscuring her vision and some of it got into her mouth.

"Oh, _Diffindo!_" she shouted, pointing her wand at her head. "There, that's better."

She had just cut off much of her hair. It was now slightly above her shoulders, probably jagged and uneven and more wild than ever, but it was no longer impeding her ability to speak or see. It was a small gesture, but it made her feel as though she was back in control of herself. If she could handle her hair, she could handle this.

"I'm sorry, Bill. What were you going to say?"

"Just that we should probably close off the Floo. Anyone who hasn't been able to arrive yet will probably assume that it's been closed off and won't try to use it."

"You're probably right," Hermione answered. "But even with all of the Ministry information, there is no way Voldemort could get around the Fidelius charm and find one of the few places that are connected to this Floo yet. I just don't want to close it off until we're absolutely sure no one else will need to come through."

She didn't speak aloud that she was still harboring the unlikely hope that Ron hadn't actually been taken to Azkaban, or worse, and would soon be coming through the Floo as though nothing had happened.

Hermione looked around the kitchen. There were so few of them here. She couldn't believe how stupid she had been—she had just assumed that Kingsley would think to tell everyone else at the Ministry that he was resigning before he went outside, but he must not have been thinking clearly. Arthur and Percy, along with a handful of other order members who worked at the Ministry, had been taken. Hermione had gotten to the Burrow in time to help Molly and Ginny move, and had gotten messages to George, Bill and Charlie, but there were three red heads who should have been sitting around the table and weren't.

Kingsley sat now at one end of the table with his head bowed. She wanted to rage at him for not warning Arthur and Percy, but she could tell he was being punished enough by his own thoughts.

A knock sounded at the door and Hermione cautiously approached. "Luna!" she said when the voice on the other side of the door spoke, and she opened the door to find the oddly calming presence of Luna Lovegood, looking serenely distracted.

"Hello Hermione," she said, drifting into the room. "I like your hair. Is it a new style?"

"Have you warned everyone?" Hermione asked, ignoring the question. Luna had been put in charge of warning other Order members while Hermione helped as many move as she could.

"Oh, yes," Luna answered. "And Daddy's going to print a special edition of the "Quibbler" tonight, telling everyone the truth."

"I'm not sure that's safe, Luna."

"Of course it's not," Luna said simply, looking around the kitchen.

Hermione just shrugged and moved back toward the table.

"Arlo," Hermione said, speaking to an Auror who was sitting by Kingsley, looking at him rather curiously. "Do you have the floor plans for Azkaban?"

Arlo nervously took a thick roll of parchment from his robes and placed it on the table.

"This is impossible, Hermione," he said. Not one of them agreed with her idea of breaking Ron, Arthur and Percy out of the Wizarding prison.

"It's not impossible," she said determinedly. "Voldemort did it once. Why can't we?"

She didn't add that she didn't think she could handle any of this while Ron was being held and possibly tortured.

Before anyone could answer, green flames erupted in the fireplace. Minerva McGonagall stepped out to find eleven wands trained on her. She rolled her eyes and spoke the password.

"You could have gotten that from any member of the Order who's now in Azkaban," Bill said scathingly. McGonagall looked sternly at the man who, after a moment, began to cower at her gaze. She addressed Hermione.

"In your third year, you had a nervous breakdown, and then used your time turner to go back so no one would know that you spent time in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey and I are the only people who knew."

Hermione nodded, convinced, but a little angry that Minerva had shared something like that with people who were supposed to be following her.

"What's happening, Minerva?" Molly asked.

"There are no knew developments on my end," she answered. "I'll be closing off the Floo when I go back. I expect they will be there soon to try to take Hogwarts, and I don't want to take any chances. I wanted to let you know that we received your messages, but will remaining at Hogwarts."

"Even Neville?" Luna asked.

"Yes," McGonagall answered, with a hint of pride. "Neville has quite a bit of experience defending the school. And the sixth and seventh years are quite loyal to him."

"Oh yes, they would be," Luna chimed in wisely. She exchanged a knowing look with McGonagall, but neither of them elaborated.

"I also wanted to bring you this. I wasn't sure if you had seen it yet." She handed Hermione a copy of the Daily Prophet.

"I must get back to my students. If you need me, you'll know where to find me, for the time being at least." Without another word, she stepped back into the fire and vanished.

Hermione unrolled the Daily Prophet and rolled her eyes.

_It seems long overdue changes in the Wizarding community will finally be taking place this morning as Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt resigns. In a statement made outside the Ministry, the former Minister announced his reluctant intentions to resign, reiterating his accusations that Harry Potter is not to be trusted. He was forced to flea as those present began hitting him with various pamphlets and the like that were blatant attempts at Ministry propaganda._

_Mere moments after his resignation, Sinon Jones, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister and now acting Minister for Magic, gave orders for Harry Potter to be released from Azkaban. Harry stepped triumphantly out through the doors into the warm sunshine, squinting from the light after time spent in the dark cells of Azkaban, but looking ready to begin his part in our revolution of the Wizarding world._

"They're making it sound like he was there for years! He was only there for twelve hours!"

_As he walked through the crowd surrounding the Ministry, greeted by shouts of "Potter for Minister" he smiled modestly. _

_"It would not be right for someone so young to take such an important office," he answered. "I have full confidence in Sinon Jones and am fully supporting him in his bid for Minister." _

_Sinon Jones may be acting as Minister, but rumor has it that Harry is currently advising the office, and essentially filling the role…_

As the afternoon wore on, the remaining members of the Order who had not been caught in the raids trickled into headquarters one by one. Each new arrival brought with them new bits of information, and by early evening, Hermione was beginning to feel sick.

Members of the Order and others who had refused to join Harry were being arrested on charges of high treason. The Dementors returned to Azkaban mere hours after Harry took control, and it was rumored that an Order member (though no one was certain who exactly it was) had already been kissed for fighting back while being arrested. The Goblins had seized all funds at Gringotts belonging to anyone who was "suspect," pending further investigation. At least two members of the Wizengamot who had openly backed Kingsley during the takeover had suffered "accidental" deaths at the hand of an unnamed werewolf. The list of atrocities went on and on until Hermione felt she couldn't take another word of it.

"Okay," Hermione said. She had been pacing, but now spun around to face the Order. She had wasted enough time struggling through half formed plans with the Order. It was time to take control.

"Our biggest priority right now is to protect the office of the Prime Minister. I have intelligence that Harry's goals do not end with control of the wizarding world, and getting to the Prime Minister would be the next step. Kingsley, do you think you could resume your role as his secretary?"

Kingsley nodded.

"Good, but that's not enough. Harry knows who you are. We need to replace the usual security around the Prime Minister with Order members Polyjuiced to look like his regular guards. I keep a stock of Polyjuice potion, and it should be enough to last until we can brew more." Hermione ignored the confused looks at the bizarre announcement that she was taking after Mad Eye Moody in this sense.

"Arlo, Bill, will you take the first shifts? You'll need to convince the real guards to go on holiday without giving notice."

The two men nodded.

"We also need to make the truth accessible to the general public, even if they're not yet willing to hear it. Luna, would your father be willing to move to a more secure location, perhaps under a Fidelius charm, and continue to print the Quibbler with the truth about what's going on?"

"Oh, Daddy won't want to leave his home," Luna answered. "But I'm sure he'll let you print some articles."

"No, Luna. If he prints anything against Harry, he'll definitely be a target. He's not safe. We need to move him."

"Why do you keep saying Harry?" Luna asked.

"I'm not," Hermione answered, surprised.

"You are dear," Molly confirmed gently.

"Oh, sorry. Voldemort then. Luna, you need to convince your father to move, regardless of whether he'll print for us. He's not safe."

After some prodding, Luna agreed.

Hermione let her eyes drift out through the window as she gathered her thoughts. The sun was now setting and as Hermione looked around the cramped kitchen, she finally admitted to herself that no one else would be arriving. She reluctantly moved toward the fireplace, slowly raising her wand to disable the Floo.

"Wait," Molly said suddenly.

Hermione turned to see her pointing a shaky finger at her clock, which she had brought with her and set on the table. Ron's hand, which had been on "Mortal Peril" for the entire day had suddenly switched to "Traveling."

Before Hermione could express any emotion at this development, the flames in the fireplace turned green and Ron tumbled out.

She rushed to him immediately and found him covered in blood. His face was bruised and there was a large gash across his cheek. His robes were muddy and shredded and he was shaking, as though he had been tortured.

"I'm fine. Don't worry," he rasped, struggling to rise to his feet. He grinned painfully at Hermione and placed a shaking arm around her. She noticed he was missing a few teeth. "He'll have to do better than that if he wants to kill me."

Molly was fawning over him now, healing various cuts and bruises. Her eyes were damp and red.

Ron looked around the room and seemed to be counting.

"Where's everyone else?" he asked. Most in the room looked to the floor.

"They got Dad," Bill said, stepping forward, "And Percy too."

Ron's face fell but he looked determined. "Well, we'll just have to break them out."

"_Thank _you," Hermione said feeling vindicated. At least someone agreed with her.

"Ron, what happened?" Ginny asked. She looked more worried than she had all day.

"They took me to Malfoy Manor," he answered to a collective gasp. "They said Harry wanted me brought there and would see me soon. They put me back in that awful basement cell and then…well let's just say Draco Malfoy had a lot of pent up frustration against me. The Carrows must have taught him a lot during his seventh year."

Hermione wanted to press him for more details, but she didn't think Molly could take it.

"How'd you get away?" Ginny asked. She still looked terrified. It must have been awful for her to just sit around helpless during the last war, wondering whether any members of her family had been killed that day. Hermione assumed she was remembering that old fear now.

"That was strange," Ron said, looking confused. "I don't know why, but Malfoy was cursing me and doing a pretty good job of it and then he just…stopped. His face got all weird and scrunched up like he was trying not to think about something, and then he threw me his wand. He told me to stun him. I didn't stop to question, I just did it and ran. Hardly anyone was upstairs. I only had to fight my way past four Death Eaters."

"Four!" Molly screamed. "_Only_ four! You could have been killed."

"Yeah, but I wasn't," Ron shrugged. "Besides, Last time was a lot harder. This time the Death Eaters weren't nearly as er…talented."

"But why did Draco let you go?" Bill asked.

"I'd imagine because of the life debt he owed you," Hermione said. Ron slapped his forehead in sudden understanding.

"I forgot about that," he said. "That makes perfect sense."

"Why did he owe you a life debt?" Molly asked suspiciously.

"Oh, we saved his life a couple times during the Battle of Hogwarts."

Bill snorted. "You did realize that we were fighting _against_ Death Eaters that night, right?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and Ron chuckled. "It was Harry of course. He was too noble to let anyone die if he could help it. He was too good for his own—"

Ron stopped short at the looks everyone was giving him.

Hermione grew angry at their reactions. "Yeah," she said forcefully, trying to induce Ron into continuing. "He always did have that saving people thing. He saved our lives more times than I can count, right Ron?"

"Yeah," Ron said a bit awkwardly. "He even let Peter Pettigrew live even though he was the reason his parents were killed."

"And he insisted on saving all the Muggleborns on trial at the Ministry even though it could have meant being caught and killed."

"And he drew the Death Eaters away from us at the Ministry and made them go after him so they wouldn't hurt us anymore," Luna chimed in.

"And he made you and Dean and Ollivander…"

"Stop!" Molly shouted. Hermione hadn't realized that the woman had begun silently sobbing. "Stop it now! For all we know Harry's out there right now killing or torturing your father and brother."

"That's not Harry," Hermione said firmly. "And we can't let what's happening make us forget the Harry we knew and loved, and who loved us. We can't let Voldemort overshadow the inherent goodness that allowed Harry to resist him for so long."

A few people nodded in assent, but most were just looking down awkwardly, and Molly was still crying.

"Right then," Hermione said. "Now how do we go about breaking into Azkaban?"

* * *

Easy. It was too easy. How had Voldemort taken so long when he, Harry, had managed to take over the Ministry, with near full support of the people and creatures alike in just over a month? He barely even had to try. 

The order was less than a thorn in his side now that they were wanted by the Ministry, and their numbers had been severely diminished by the raids. Weasley was currently being held at Malfoy Manor, and Granger stood no chance against him now. He had all the power. Let her live free for now, it that's what you'd call it. He'd still send Aurors looking for her, but she wasn't enough of a problem to bother with. He'd deal with the Mudblood when the time came.

"My Lord," Sinon Jones said as he entered the office and bowed low. Harry was sitting behind the Minister's desk and didn't bother to stand when he entered. "I cannot thank you enough for this honor."

Sinon had just delivered a speech accepting his official appointment as Minister while Harry waited. He did not want to impose his presence too much in this matter. Let them think Sinon was in charge. It would only make his eventual plans easier when the people began to see what he was really after.

Before Harry could begin discussing plans with Jones, Draco walked through the office door. There was a thin line of blood trickling from his forehead and he looked very nervous.

"What has happened, Draco?" Harry asked.

"Weasley escaped. I tried to stop him, but I couldn't. He overpowered me. I'm so sorry My Lord. I've failed you."

Before Harry could respond, an owl flew through the open window, dropping a letter in front of Harry. He unrolled the parchment and read.

Ginny had proven useful again.

"Tell me Draco," he said. "How did Weasley, a mediocre wizard at best, manage to overpower you?"

"Well, he er…he took my wand and stunned me. I was foolish. I looked away…"

"Are you certain that is how it happened?"

Draco was caught and he knew it. He quickly changed his story. He dropped to his knees in a pose of complete submission.

"My Lord, I had to let him go. He saved my life once. I couldn't help it. It was like some unknown magical force took over me and I had to let him go. It was out of my power. But now my life debt is paid, and I'm free to serve you unconditionally."

"I see," Harry said, standing and walking slowly to his window, his back turned to the still prostrate form of Draco Malfoy. "Are you sure that is exactly what happened? Perhaps your memories are a bit hazy. Would you be willing to submit to questioning under Veritaserum?"

Sinon was watching the events unfold almost hungrily. Harry noted this, pleased.

"Yes," Draco answered. "Yes, My Lord."

"Draco, Draco, Draco," he said, shaking his head. "Tell me, when did Weasley save your life exactly?"

"At the last battle. A Death Eater thought I was on the other side and was going to kill me. Weasley stunned him and then punched me in the face. It was stupid really."

"Draco, you have failed me. You have, until this point, bumbled through your service to me, rarely accomplishing any task you have been set, but you have been loyal. I have not punished you too severely because you have always remained loyal, despite your incompetence. I forgave your past misdeeds, and I forgave you for your inability to keep our location secret at the meager threat of one woman. I will give you one more chance now to tell me what happened with Weasley."

"I told you, My Lord," Draco said, shaking now. "I let him go because of the life debt."

Harry shook his head again.

"You fool boy," Harry said. "Did you really think that Ron saved your life that night? It was I who save you. He punched you, but I saved you. You owed him no life debt. You let him go tonight of your own will."

Draco looked horrified as he lay on the ground. Harry was disappointed. Draco had been a good servant.

"_Crucio_," Harry hissed, watching with disappointment as Draco writhed on the ground. Still holding the spell, Harry spoke to Jones.

"Please take Draco back to Malfoy Manor. He will be living in the dungeon for the time being. I shall deal with him more fully later."

Harry was disappointed. Draco's betrayal changed a number of things. He had been planning on marching victoriously upon Hogwarts this very evening, instilling Draco as Headmaster. Draco had taken his inherited place on the Board of Governors and would therefore raise fewer objections at his appointment than anyone else at Harry's command. There was no one else Harry felt loyal enough, or capable enough, to take the position. He had plans for Hogwarts, or more accurately for the students there, and he couldn't trust just anyone with such an important step in his plans.

He mentally ran through the list of potential candidates, but there was no one. He sighed. As always, he could rely on none of the bumbling fools. He would have to take matters into his own hands.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you again to those of you who have been reviewing! I love every single one of you! I hope the story is still keeping you interested. 


	10. Snape's Triumph

Alone, Harry walked through the gates of Hogwarts, as if no wards existed around the place, and marched purposefully toward the entrance. There was no need for support: This would be just as easy as it had been to take over the Ministry.

Moving along smoothly, gazing up at the castle he once called home, he suddenly felt a strange jolt of pain in his chest that made him stop in his tracks. He closed his eyes and it subsided, but when he opened them again, and looked up at the looming form of the castle, it returned.

The pain overwhelmed him and he fell to his knees. He looked around, peering through the darkness, wondering if someone in the shadows was hitting him with a curse. He cast a quick shield charm, but the consuming pain continued. This was not caused by a curse.

He closed his eyes and forced himself to steady his breathing. This would not do. As had done in the forest, a series of images washed over him, some of them from Harry's time at Hogwarts, and some from Tom Riddle's.

Images from the last battle, from both perspectives, assaulted him. Fear, hate, victory, anger, sorrow, love, death, death…

It was all at once so contradictory and so similar. He was having trouble sorting out which emotion belonged to which consciousness, and indeed which consciousness was currently conscious in him.

But the memories from before that night overwhelmed him as well. There was fondness, and longing, but there was something more…

He struggled to master himself against this unexpected assaulting force. He pushed aside all thought and memory of the past and concentrated on his current objective. He climbed back to his feet, pleased to find that his breathing had steadied, and that his heart had slowed its pace. He moved forward with renewed determination.

The large double doors leading into the castle flew open before him. He kept his eyes focused straight ahead as he passed through, into the Entrance Hall, and on into the Great Hall.

Gasps and awed and excited whispers of "It's Harry Potter" from the students greeted his entrance. He had arrived, as he planned, during dinner. The whole school was seated, separated by house as always. He looked around at them as he walked casually across the hall, smiling. Many of the smaller students got to their feet to look at him as he passed and he waved indulgently. He thought he even saw one young girl faint.

Finally, as he approached the teacher's platform, he allowed his eyes to fall on the Headmistress.

"Minerva," he said jovially. "How good to see you again. I trust that you are well?"

Her eyes narrowed and she visibly cringed as he shook her hand. She was in the Order, he knew. She believed she was clasping the hand of Lord Voldemort.

"I have some wonderful news for you, Minerva," he said, taking a roll of parchment from his robes. "I know you have wanted to retire for a while now, and have just been waiting for a suitable replacement. Well, the Board of Governors has just appointed a new Headmaster!"

"And, who, might I ask, have they appointed?" she asked through gritted teeth.

Harry smiled.

"Me."

The students sitting closest to the platform heard him speak and began to cheer, passing the news along to their housemates.

"But Mr. Potter, you are not even a professor; you are only twenty three years old. This is ludicrous."

"Oh Minerva," he said, looking at her with a fond expression for the benefit of those watching, "I know it must be difficult to leave after all these years. I had hoped that you might stay on as Transfiguration Professor for the remainder of the year, to allow us time to find a suitable replacement, and perhaps allow you some time to adjust to the idea of leaving." Though it was usually unheard of, McGonagall had stayed on as a teacher even after her appointment as Headmistress. They had been unable to find a replacement that lived up to her very high standards.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Harry cut her off.

"I would actually like to speak to the whole of the staff, if you don't mind leaving your dinner. May we go into the antechamber?" He phrased this as a question, but he knew it was understood as an order.

Minerva opened her mouth again but then shut it, turning on her heal, gesturing to the other teachers, and marching into the antechamber.

"Neville!" Harry said as he followed the procession of Professors, coming up beside Neville Longbottom. "It's been too long. How have you been?"

He looked sideways at Harry with a strange, unreadable expression, but didn't speak. Harry wondered whether it was safe to keep Neville on at the school. He was a mediocre wizard, and wasn't really a threat, but the fewer people who mistrusted him, the easier his job here would be.

Harry began to speak immediately as they entered the antechamber.

"It's an honor to have been invited to work alongside such—"

"Oh, cut the crap, Potter," McGonagall interrupted. She had apparently become fearless in her old age. "We know who you are. You are not fooling us."

Harry smiled. "Why Professor, I'm not sure what you mean. But I can see you're too eager to discuss school business for me to waste your time with pleasantries." He looked around at the faces of the teachers and, after some subtle Legilimency, discovered that they all believed he was under the influence of Voldemort. He had been hoping to find at least a few of them ready to join him. No matter though: He would merely have to proceed slightly differently than planned.

"As you are all no doubt aware, changes are taking place within the Wizarding community. I support these changes fully, and will do everything I can to see that they are carried out. As Headmaster of Hogwarts, I wish to extend these improvements to the school and to be sure that our children are receiving the best magical education we can offer.

"There will be changes to the curriculum. Some of these changes may evoke criticism, and perhaps controversy. I do not wish to hide my eventual aims from you and will therefore inform you of my plans now and give you the chance to resign your posts if you disagree with my initiative.

"Those of you who choose to stay will be receiving revised plans of study containing instructions on what you are to teach your students. These changes will emphasize useful spells rather than household skills that could be taught at home. Muggle Studies and Divination will no longer be taught. Professor Trelawney, Professor Browning, you shall be allowed to remain on at the school while you seek other employment if you wish. I am sorry to be so blunt, but History of Magic, as it is taught now, is a joke. I believe Hermione Granger is the only student to ever actually pay attention in the class. Professor Binns will be replaced with a competent, living teacher and the curriculum will now concentrate on more recent events and educate students of the wrongs done in our society, rather than being taught to accept these discriminations and archaic values.

"During the war, students fought. They believed they were prepared for battle and they fought, and many of them died. It was an unnecessary tragedy. This will not happen again. Defense Against the Dark Arts has been laughable. Students have graduated without being able to cast a simple Stunner. I realize that much of this has been the result of incompetent teaching, but the curse has been lifted from the position, and the students will no longer receive an inadequate education as the result of others. Students will be trained in combat. They will learn how to defend themselves properly, and from real threats, rather than learning unnecessary defense from harmless creatures like Dementors. The time devoted to this revolutionized course will be extended and students will no longer have as many idle hours. They are learning irresponsibility from the light course load they have been given. Students will be in class or at meals from sunrise until late evening. They will learn the value of hard work, and—"

"You're raisin' an army," Hagrid said quietly from the back without lifting his head. "You're preparin' 'em to fight fer ya."

Harry was surprised that Hagrid had been the one to catch on first. He had expected McGonagall, or perhaps Flitwick, but then, maybe they already had but were too smart to say anything.

"I am preparing them for the real world, Professor Hagrid. I am preparing them to defend themselves. I do not wish to coddle the children."

"You are planning to manipulate them and force them into believing your misrepresented ideas, and your deception will result in an unquestioning army of children," Browning, the Muggle Studies teacher said with disgust etched on her features.

Harry really hadn't expected the teachers to accept his plans. He knew that many of them would see through his new curriculum, and was not very surprised by their reactions.

Harry smiled. "I find it unnecessary to defend myself further. If you disagree with my aims, feel free to leave your post. You will not be thought badly of."

For a moment, no one moved. Then Hagrid let out a sad, bellowing sigh and stood up.

"Hagrid, no," McGonagall hissed. "The students need you."

Hagrid didn't answer, but stumbled from the room.

"Very good," Harry said, looking around at those who had remained. "I will be busy in the coming months with advising the new Minister, and may not be as much of a presence here as I would like to be. I will be counting on you all to uphold these new, long overdue changes and will be watching to see that you do. The new History of Magic and Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers have been appointed and should be arriving shortly. Care of Magical Creatures will be disbanded indefinitely."

He swept from the room without waiting for a response. No response was necessary. They weren't happy about his presence, he knew, but they had no choice but to follow him. Should they refuse, they would be dealt with.

* * *

"So we go tonight," Hermione said firmly, without a trace of fear in her voice.

"Hermione, please think about what you are planning," Molly said for what had to be the hundredth time. "This is reckless, this is stupid, and this is unnecessary. You will get us all captured or killed."

"Our plan is good," Hermione said. "In my experience, places wizards believe to be secure are never as impenetrable as they'd like to believe they are."

"But this isn't Hogwarts, or the Ministry, or—"

"Or Gringotts?" Hermione interjected. "Gringotts was supposed to be more secure even than Azkaban, but we got in there without much of a problem. We can do this. We can break into Azkaban."

"Hermione's right," Ron said, but the slightly wild tone of his voice made Hermione question her own plans and recklessness, rather than feel reassured. "We can't just let them suffer in there, especially with the Dementors back."

Molly looked ready to argue further, but didn't. It was, after all, among others, her husband and son they were planning to rescue.

"Alright," Hermione said, taking control back. "Everyone who is coming, try to get some sleep. Be prepared to leave at 3am."

* * *

Walking the silent halls of Hogwarts, Harry found it much more difficult to suppress the strange pain in his chest than he had when he had been set in his objective, in the Great Hall, surrounded by people.

The well worn path he tread, so familiar and yet so foreign, seemed to cause the pain of remembrance and conflicting emotions to amplify with each step he took. It was as though there were something inside of him, struggling to break free.

A smile graced his lips as he approached the stone gargoyle blocking the entrance to the Headmaster's office. He suppressed the uncomfortable feeling in his chest and began to speak.

"I am now the rightful Headmaster of Hogwarts. This is my office."

The Gargoyle, somewhat surprisingly, didn't put up a fight, but stepped aside to allow him entrance.

As Harry ascended the spiraling staircase, he felt the pain in his chest subside slightly. The memories he associated with this particular place were very different from those of the rest of the castle. There was no happiness here: Guilt, overwhelming anger, grief, and horror, yes, but no happiness.

He looked around the office as he entered, taking in the delicate silver instruments still left from Dumbledore's days as Headmaster, his eyes finally resting on the portrait hanging behind the desk.

"Hello, Professor," he said conversationally. The portrait peered out at him with an almost unreadable expression, but didn't speak.

"It's been too long. I should have come to visit sooner, I know, but I've been quite busy the last five years. No matter now, though. Soon you'll have had enough of my presence. You may have already heard, the portraits do like to gossip I know. It seems I will be taking your old post."

"I have indeed heard," the portrait finally said gravely. "But I am quite curious as to why you should desire this, given your eventual goals. What is Hogwarts compared to the larger world, Tom?"

Harry chuckled. "Not you as well," he said. "What have I done that is so atrocious that even my closest friends feel they need to deny my identity?"

"I am not a fool, Tom. Do not treat me as such," Dumbledore answered simply.

"No, you are not," Harry agreed. He could speak honestly to this portrait as he could to no one else. There was no need for false pretences. These portraits, he knew, were bound to serve the current Headmaster. It was perhaps unwise to share all of his secrets, but he knew the portraits could never betray him as long as he remained Headmaster.

"You are not a fool," he continued, "But your wisdom, even in all its glory, has failed you. You were incorrect on one assumption at least."

"It would appear so, but let us hope, for the sake of many, that it was just the one."

"What does it matter? Your arguable successes in fighting against Voldemort have proved irrelevant compared to your one, rather large mistake." Harry spoke with both sarcasm and hate. The hate was the combined force of both Voldemort's ingrained hatred for the man, and traces of Harry's own more muted resentment that the man had so abysmally failed him. This aspect was so subtle that Harry was barely aware of it.

"I believe the mistake you are referring to was my assumption that the Horcrux in Harry would be destroyed by the Killing curse you hit him with?"

"Other than your use of pronouns, that is the mistake to which I am referring."

"Do you deny that you are indeed Lord Voldemort then?" Dumbledore asked.

"I _am_ Harry Potter, old man, but I will not deny that Lord Voldemort's powers and memories have been absorbed into my being. We have indeed become one, though it is I, Harry Potter, who is in control."

"Harry would never do the things you have done, Tom. Harry was a good man; a better man than most. Harry Potter refused power infused with evil once, and he will do so again, if he is able."

Harry chuckled. "I assume you are referring to this?" He raised the Elder Wand. Dumbledore lowered his eyes.

"I have grown beyond the idiotic boy you once manipulated and groomed for a martyr. I have seen what a fool I was to believe the convoluted and hypocritical ideals you once preached. I have gained power and wisdom beyond what you, or even Voldemort himself ever possessed, and I have finally learned the truth you kept from me. I have finally learned of the illusion of good and evil. I have learned what it is to possess true and complete power."

"And how do you intend to use that power?" a familiar voice came from Harry's right and he turned to face it, trying to keep his anger in check. Something in his mind roared with fury, and he was sure that his eyes shone red.

"Snape," he spat. The man in the portrait just raised a single eyebrow at him, without changing his expression.

"I must say, it is difficult to imagine power the likes of which only the Dark Lord ever had inside the body of such an untalented boy," Snape leered. "Though I must also say, it is difficult to imagine such evil consuming the son of Lily Evans."

Harry regained himself and smiled at the portrait. "_I_ must admit, Severus, it is difficult for me to know how to react to you."

"I'd imagine it would be," Dumbledore added. "Harry alone would have trouble reacting to him now that he knows the truth, but combined with the hatred you, Tom, must feel for the man who was able to betray and fool—"

"_Silencio_," Harry shouted angrily and Dumbledore's portrait fell silent.

"I am curious, Severus," Harry continued calmly, as though nothing had happened. "How were you able to deceive Lord Voldemort so completely, and for so long?"

Snape peered out at him with a blank expression, but didn't answer.

"You will answer me, Severus. Do you forget that you are now bound to serve me in a way much more absolute than you once were?"

"To whom do you refer when you say 'me'?" Snape asked.

"Whichever you choose: I believe you were bound to serve both of us."

"Fooling you, _My Lord_," he said with unmasked disdain, "was quite simple. You saw in me what you wanted to believe, and never thought to question it."

"But I, or rather, Lord Voldemort killed you, Severus. In the end, the Dark Lord was triumphant."

"You say you are partially Lord Voldemort, but commanded by Harry Potter. If that is so, I am surprised that you call being controlled by Potter triumph."

With some difficulty, Harry arranged his features into a smile. "We shall see, in the end, Severus, who triumphs over whom."

* * *

**A/N: **For those of you waiting for some more displays of power, you won't have to wait much longer.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. The reviews keeps me writing even though this is getting really difficult to write...


	11. Fear, Flight, and Fate

**A/N: **Just as a warning, this chapter has a bit more gore than any of the previous ones. So if you've got a weak stomach, or you're easily offended by blood, you might not want to read.

* * *

This was getting ridiculous. Between flying on brooms, Buckbeak, Thestrals, and a Dragon for Merlin's sake, Hermione would have thought she'd be over her fear of heights by now. She supposed it had something to do with her Muggle upbringing, but she just couldn't accept flying over the ocean without a seatbelt, or an engine for that matter. 

Through the dark night sky, Hermione could just make out the looming form of Azkaban prison in the distance, and she leaned forward awkwardly on her broom to increase her speed. Ron was flying next to her, staying close to be sure he could catch her if she began to lose control, and she was grateful for his concern.

Hermione glanced to her left, and then to her right, trying to gauge the fear on the faces of those accompanying her on this foolish mission. She had done her best to convince them that their plan was good, but they weren't stupid. It could hardly be called a plan at all.

As they approached the island, Hermione signaled for everyone to begin their descent. Her broom jerked a bit as she landed, but she managed to touch down safely.

"You know what to do," she whispered, and as one, the group advanced on Azkaban.

Almost at once, as Hermione had expected, they were surrounded by Dementors. Luckily for the Order, Harry had removed nearly all human guards from the prison. Also luckily for the Order, most of them had learned to cast impressive Patronuses under the tutelage of Harry himself.

"_Expecto Patronum_!" they shouted together. Silver creatures shot out of each wand and advanced on the Dementors almost as a single mass. Despite the pressure of the current situation, Hermione watched fondly as her otter did excited loops around a Dementor's head.

The group ran after their Patronuses as the Dementors were pushed back toward the prison.

"George! Bill!" Hermione shouted as they approached the heavily barred gates leading into the complex.

George and Bill stepped forward while the rest of the Order held the Dementors off and let them do their jobs. Bill set to work breaking past the wards while George prepared to blow the gates down. The Pureblood fools who had designed both the original protections on Azkaban, and the more recent additions, had thought of spells to block out nearly every magical force. Hermione knew from the plans Arlo Anterby had secured for her that they hadn't ever thought to protect against simple Muggle bombs.

"Get back!" George shouted, running from the gate.

An explosion rent the air and Hermione was thrown backward.

Every Patronus they had cast vanished as the Order struggled back to their feet, and the Dementors began advancing on them again. Hermione tried to recast her otter, but she couldn't see Ron through the smoky haze the bomb had created, and not knowing if he was alright was making it difficult for her to think of a happy memory.

"George, you prat!" came a shout through the chaotic din as a silver terrier shot out in front of Hermione. It was Ron.

"I didn't know it would do that!" George shouted back. "I don't usually go around blowing things up—at least not without magic anyway."

Hermione cast her otter, did a quick headcount, and then signaled for everyone to follow her through the gates.

As soon as they entered they were met by a large group of wizards outnumbering them two to one. Wand fire began flying before Hermione was even fully aware of what was happening. Instinct kicked in, however, and she was shooting spells back with full force before she knew what she was doing.

Hermione ducked and dodged and shot spells as best she could, but it quickly became clear that these were not ordinary guards. The violent curses they were using, and the skill with which they fought showed Hermione clearly that they were Death Eaters.

The walls were crumbling from the force of misaimed curses and Hermione could barely see through the dust and debris flying through the air.

She watched with horror as a green light that looked suspiciously like a killing curse soared over Ron's shoulder, missing him by mere inches. It was this, more than anything that drove Hermione to use a curse she had never dared to use before.

"_Sectumsempra!" _she roared, slashing her wand blindly in front of her. Blood spewed from the newly inflicted wounds of her enemies. She screamed the curse over and over again, wildly, without restraint.

She didn't stop until she felt Ron grab her wrist.

The group of Death Eaters had dwindled, as many of them were now lying in a bloody heap on the ground. It didn't look as though she had killed any of them, but she was afraid to look too closely.

The rest of the Order easily incapacitated the rest of them, taking or snapping wands as they rushed by.

George had been hurt and Ron fell back to help him to his feet. The group staggered on toward the cell block where they knew those arrested had been taken. It was eerily silent as they moved deeper through the labyrinthine passageways of the prison. The only sounds Hermione could hear were those of the group's footsteps, and their labored breathing.

"This way!" Lavender Brown panted as Hermione was about to take a wrong turn. "I remember from the map." Against her better judgment, Hermione followed Lavender down a different path.

But Lavender was proven right as Hermione soon felt the presence of Dementors. "Up here!" she shouted more to herself than to anyone else as she cast her Patronus again.

She turned a corner and stopped dead. There were cells lining the walls, but she could barely see the prisoners through them. There were hundreds of Dementors filling the hall, moving toward them as an almost solid presence.

Hermione's otter flickered and vanished as the weight of the Dementor induced despair pressed in on her, and she watched as though from a distance as many of the other Patronuses faded as well. She could hear Voldemort's magically amplified voice, and see Harry's limp body lying at his feet.

Weak cries of "Expecto Patronum" could be heard all around Hermione, but no silver bursts of light rushed forward. Though most of them weren't yet twenty five years old, they had seen too much horror in life to easily combat the power of the Dementors.

Finally, as though Hermione were coming out of a fog, her thoughts began to clear. She could see Luna's Patronus, surprisingly closely followed by Lavender's, moving forward. Bill's quickly joined the group and Hermione suddenly found she could cast hers again as well.

As the Dementors receded back into the depths of the prison, Bill raced forward and began using every spell he could think of to break the spells keeping the cells locked.

It seemed like hours passed while Hermione and the others held the Dementors off, but it must have only been minutes before the first gate clicked open and Percy Weasley stumbled out, looking dazed, but generally okay. Hermione had an idea what memory he had been forced to relive while in that cell.

After that, Bill didn't have much trouble opening the other cells. They were soon running back toward the exit, now accompanied by nearly twenty escaped prisoners. They had been armed with the wands that had been taken from the defeated Death Eaters and the group had no trouble holding off the Dementors that attacked them as they left.

Once back in the open air, Hermione reached into the beaded back she had kept tucked in her robe and began pulling out brooms and tossing them to those who needed them.

As the group, now nearly doubled in size, took off into the cool night air, Hermione felt a surge of elation pass through her. It had been reckless, as everyone told her. It had been dangerous, and probably stupid, but it had worked. Hermione had just done what only Voldemort himself had ever managed to do before; she had broken into Azkaban. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

"First the Ministry, then Gringotts, now Azkaban," Arthur Weasley shouted, flying up beside her. "I thought you were the responsible one!"

Hermione laughed loudly as she flew on, forgetting to be afraid of flying.

* * *

How? _How? _How had the Mudblood and her fool friends managed it? How had they managed to successfully break into Azkaban mere hours after he took control of it? How had they managed to injure so severely over forty of his followers? How had they managed to free nearly every single prisoner he had captured? This was not possible! They were _nothing_ compared to him, and yet they had beaten him. Their victory was small, yes, but it was a victory all the same, and victory of any sort would not do. He was winning. The Order was supposed to be nothing but a mere nuisance. How had they done this? 

Harry fumed as he paced around his library at Malfoy Manor, barely aware that books were flying angrily off the shelves, and that the torches were flickering.

"M-my L-lord," someone said nervously, coming into the room. Harry turned quickly to face the door and in his surge of anger, the torches grew very bright and then went out.

"_What?"_ he spat at Allecto Carrow, lighting his wand.

"The Goblins are getting impatient," she said very quickly, looking at the floor. He could see her shaking and felt slightly appeased.

"_Crucio_," he said furiously, pointing his wand at the witch. She hadn't done anything to upset him, but he found himself not really caring. It was more the fact that he was angry, and she was there.

After about five minutes of intermittent casting of the unforgivable curse, Harry felt himself calm slightly. He moved toward the door, stepping lightly over Carrow's whimpering and shaking form, and came out into the dining room.

He found a group of Goblins waiting around the table, looking very annoyed.

"We are not accustomed to waiting on wizards, Mr. Potter," Ragnok, the Chief Goblin of the High Goblin Council sneered.

"You _will_ grow accustomed to it, Ragnok," Harry said coldly. He struggled to keep his temper in check, somewhat unsuccessfully. "_I _am not accustomed to allowing my followers to call meetings with me. I have done this as a favor to the Goblin Council and will not do so again. You would do well to remember who is in charge here."

"Your followers?" Ragnok growled. "We are not your followers. Goblins serve no wizard master. Have you forgotten the deal we made? We are to be on equal level with you. We have helped you and you have not kept your promises. You have the Ministry, and yet we Goblins are still waiting for our recompense. Do not force us to take action against you, Mr. Potter."

Harry glared at the Goblin. The Goblins were useful, yes, but he was in no mood for this level of disrespect. He was not willing to allow such behavior without punishment, and was not willing to placate them. Their allegiance was not important enough to permit such open disregard for his authority.

"Ragnok," Harry said in a dangerously quiet voice. "You have shown me great disrespect this night. This is not something I usually allow. However, Goblin-Wizard relations have been so poor for so long, I will excuse this one instance of insolence.

"I have told you, Ragnok, that you and your fellow Goblins would have a higher place in the new order. I have told you that you would have rights equal to that of wizards. Well, wizards serve me now, just as you will."

Growls of outrage met this somewhat rash announcement, but Harry pressed on. He was in no mood to try to appease these disgusting creatures with lies.

"Yes, Goblins, you will serve me or you will face the consequences. Do not underestimate my power. You would be wise to leave here this night without questioning me again."

"Never," Ragnok hissed. "We will never serve you or anyone else."

"So be it," Harry whispered.

With a single, silent spell, Ragnok exploded. The goblin was reduced to nothing but blood, and bits of bone. The remaining goblins were bathed in their leader's innards. Looks of terror and shock were etched on each of their blood stained faces, but Harry just chuckled.

"Groknik," he said, addressing one of the goblins, "I believe you were second in command. Do you agree with Ragnok's sentiments?"

The goblin looked around the room, distressed, but when his eyes met Harry's, they were strong. He spoke with a steady voice.

"We shall not serve you."

"_Avada Kadavra._" The foolish goblin slumped dead in his chair.

"Karnog?" he asked, an insane smile still splayed across his face.

"Never."

The goblin was lifted into the air and levitated into the merrily crackling fire. His screams echoed through the otherwise silent room as he was burned alive.

One by one, Harry asked each goblin in turn whether they were willing to serve him. As Harry expected, not a single one agreed. Not one raised a hand in defense or made an attempt to flee. They sat calmly and silently until it was their turn to die. They were foolish creatures, really. Harry had no real use for them.

He watched, his robes and skin stained with blood, as the last Goblin slowly bled to death at his feet. This had been fun, but there was work to be done. He couldn't allow himself to take any more pleasure from this game.

Standing over the dying goblin, he spoke in a cool, detached voice.

"You will be allowed to live, as I am such a merciful master. You shall return to your people and tell them of this night. You will tell them what happens to foolish creatures who put their pride above their own well being. Do you understand?"

The goblin tried to speak in answer but blood poured from his mouth as he convulsed on the ground. Finally he nodded.

"Very good." Harry healed the worst of the goblin's wounds and called one of his servant's to see the barely conscious goblin out.

"Parvati," he called, not bothering to clean up the mess from the room or from himself. She had been waiting outside the room during the exchange and he hoped she had heard everything that had happened. She needed to know what would happen to her if she betrayed him. "I am ready for you now."

* * *

"He's completely mad," Parvati said, pacing the cramped shed where she had met Hermione with a wild look in her eyes. "He's gone completely mental. He's lost it—" 

"Okay, Parvati," Hermione said in what she hoped was a calming tone. "Tell me what's happening."

"He's mad," she continued wildly. "He killed almost the entire High Goblin Council when he found out about Azkaban. He's not even trying to make anyone think he's a good guy anymore. He doesn't have to any more. It's fear that will keep people following him now. He's completely mad—"

"I got that part," Hermione said a bit impatiently. "He's mad, but what's he planning?"

"I don't know. He's not happy with me. I explained that I can't find you to ask to join the Order, and that you've gone into hiding, but he says I could find you if I wanted to. I think he's catching on." She said this last part airily, as if it was of no consequence to her that her life might be in imminent danger.

"Well then," Hermione said, "you can't go back. Not if he suspects—"

"Of course I'm going back," Parvati spat. "You need a spy. I'll convince him. I'll tell him I've found you and you've agreed to let me join. He killed them all, Hermione. I was right in the next room. You don't understand. He's mad. It was like he wanted me to see so that I knew what would happen if I betrayed him."

Parvati hesitated. "I don't know what he's planning, Hermione, but I know none of you are safe. You see, I heard something else…"

"What did you hear?" Hermione asked impatiently.

"It's Ginny," Parvati said after a moment. "I think she's a spy."

* * *

**A/N: **A couple of things: I tried to make it clear in the story, but if it wasn't, I'll justify it here (if anyone even cares). I realize that Hermione using Sectumsempra is very strange and a bit out of character, but she was desperate. She's seen war, she's seen friends die, and she wasn't about to lose anyone else to Death Eaters. She feels a great responsibility as head of the Order and will do what she must to keep them safe, especially when she was the one who led them on such an idiotic mission in the first place. 

And to answer LAoR: You'll just have to wait and see ; )

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I'm really not quite sure about this chapter since it's a little different from what I usually write. I always love those who review but I'd really appreciate it on this one! I'm giving out gold stars, I swear. And anyone who gets the ridiculously obscure reference of the chapter title gets two of 'em.


	12. Reflection and Resonance

Hermione walked slowly back into the kitchen of the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. She should have felt elation at their success at breaking into Azkaban, but didn't. The atmosphere around the table was muted and worried. George had been hurt. He had been hurt worse than Hermione had realized. It wasn't until he lost consciousness and fell off his broom while flying over the ocean that anyone realized how badly he had been hurt.

It had been Ginny who had seen him falling and, with skills borne of her years as a Quidditch player, had managed to catch him as he spiraled to the ground.

Molly was with him now, trying to figure out exactly what curse he had been hit with, but wasn't having much success. He needed a skilled healer. He needed St. Mungo's, but that wasn't an option open to them.

No one was blaming Hermione, not out loud anyway, but she felt completely responsible. What had she been trying to prove? If George didn't recover, would it still have been worth it? Would it have been worth sacrificing one of their number, one of the Order, one of the Weasleys, just to rescue others?

Tired eyes looked up at her from all sides as she sighed and slid into an empty chair. They were exhausted, all of them, but not just from the events of that night she knew. They had been fighting for too long. Many of them had been fighting for most of their lives. How long would it be before they began to give up? Before they decided that it was just easier to accept whatever evils were handed to them? Before they grew too tired to keep fighting and just laid down their wands in surrender?

Inevitably, Hermione's eyes rested on Ginny.

What Parvati had said about Ginny being a spy was more than unsettling. Parvati hadn't had any proof, just a conversation she had overheard where Ginny's name wasn't actually mentioned. But even without proof, Hermione knew it was a possibility. She had felt all along that something wasn't right with Ginny, but had blinded herself to it because she just didn't want to believe that Ginny would betray them. She still didn't want to believe it, but she couldn't just ignore it any more.

Ginny had been fighting for most of her life. She had been fighting since she was eleven and first began writing in the diary of Tom Riddle. She had been fighting when she flushed the diary down the toilet, hoping to eradicate the evil contained within; evil she, at eleven, could never have understood. She had been fighting at thirteen when she lived in the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. She had been fighting when her father was attacked by Nagini and nearly killed. She had been fighting when she joined the D.A., when she cast hexes on the Inquisitorial Squad and insisted on accompanying them to the Ministry in her fourth year, trying to ignore the pain of her broken ankle, trying to ignore the fear the fourteen year old must have felt. She had been fighting when she returned to the Voldemort-controlled Hogwarts in her sixth year. She had been fighting, even when she had been prohibited from doing so, when she joined that last battle. But what had she been fighting for? Her family, of course, but above all, Hermione assumed, she had been fighting for Harry. What would have happened to her beliefs and ideals now that the person she had spent her life fighting for had become the person she was supposed to be fighting against.

Hermione had never really liked Ginny as much as she let on. It was something she never admitted to anyone, and something she rarely even admitted to herself. Ginny was, in her way, a strong person. Everyone thought so: she was brash and forward and could handle herself against far more powerful wizards. She rarely cried and kept herself strong during the war. She was astoundingly confident and self assured, everyone said, but was she?

Hermione wasn't so sure. How much of who Ginny had become in her teens was just to impress Harry, the boy-who-lived? Wasn't it common that the girls who seemed so overly confident were really more unsure of themselves than the rest? And she had completely fallen apart when Harry left. Was that strength? To base your entire self on the affection of a boy you had dated for mere weeks? How far would Ginny be willing to go to regain that affection? To be the one the famous Harry Potter loved? Was it even Harry that she loved?

"You did the right thing, Hermione," Bill said, dragging her from her thoughts. He must have misread her silence.

She turned to him and gave him a small, sad smile.

"I hope so."

* * *

"Draco," Harry said lightly as he lit his wand and entered the darkened room. He found the boy shivering on the floor, covered in blood, twitching. Harry had yet to visit him since his imprisonment, but he hadn't denied some of his Liberators the pleasure of taking out their frustrations on the traitor. 

"Drink this," he said, handing Draco a cup of tea.

He reached out a trembling hand and took the cup. He must have known that it contained Veritaserum, or at least something he probably shouldn't drink, but he was obviously beyond the point where he could fight. Harry waited while Draco slowly drank the tea.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Draco Malfoy."

"What happened the night you cornered Albus Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts?"

"I disarmed him. He told me he knew all along and asked how I had snuck the Death Eaters in. He told me I wasn't past the point of help, and that he could help me. I lowered my wand. I wouldn't have killed him. Then Snape and the others came in and Snape killed him."

"Very good," Harry said. As Voldemort, he had gotten an entirely different story from Draco, and Draco had no idea that Harry had witnessed the entire scene. Harry could now be sure that Draco was under the influence of Veritaserum.

"Did you really believe that you owed a life debt to Ronald Weasley?"

"Yes."

"Was that the only reason you let him go?"

"Yes."

"Are you still loyal to me and our cause?"

"Absolutely My Lord."

"Can you foresee any situation where you might knowingly betray me again?"

"No."

"Very well," Harry said. "You have suffered much for your betrayal, I can see. Perhaps not enough, but we shall see. I have work for you Draco, but understand: If you ever betray me again, in any way, this punishment will be nothing compared to what you will suffer. Your mother has been allowed to live to this point as a favor to you. I should have killed her long ago, but I have refrained. If you betray me again, you will watch her die, painfully, before you suffer the same fate. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Draco choked. Harry had barely been aware that he was cutting off the boy's breathing while he spoke.

"Good. I have work for you. You have twenty four hours to recover yourself before you must arrive at Hogwarts. You are to be the new History of Magic professor. I have left the details of your new duties in your room."

Without another word, Harry left Draco still trembling on the floor, casting him a disgusted look as he did.

It was regretful that he was forced to rely on people like Draco Malfoy against his better judgment. He had legions at his command, yes, but they weren't yet ready to share his ultimate goals with, and therefore would not be suitable for certain tasks. If only he had servants like Bellatrix Lestrange. So many casualties had been suffered during the war he sometimes forgot how many loyal Death Eaters had been lost.

Harry made his way back up to his library, thinking about his plans. Slaughtering the High Goblin Council had been a near catastrophic mistake. He knew he would now lose the loyalty of the goblins, and that when word of his actions began circulating, he would lose the loyalty of many other followers as well. Of course, many wouldn't believe the rumors, but many would as well.

He would have to be more careful. He had lost control. He did not like admitting it to himself but Voldemort had been entirely in control during that fiasco, and Voldemort was completely insane. A part of him understood that Voldemort fed off of anger and that when he allowed himself to become so angry after hearing of the breakout at Azkaban, Voldemort had seized upon it. That could not happen again. Harry must remain in control.

The Quibbler had already devoted an issue to the Azkaban breakout and to the slaughter of the goblins. It had been printed that morning mere hours after the events and Harry had immediately sent a group of Aurors to shut Lovegood down. He had been infinitely surprised to find that the man had already been moved. Of course it was a logical move on the Order's part, but the Order had never been logical before. They hadn't bothered to protect the man or the newspaper during the first war, and he hadn't expected them to now.

Perhaps he was underestimating Granger. He knew she was clever, but she had never really been a leader. He had always been the one to take control in their group. She made her contributions, but she was not a leader.

But she had also always been one to rise to the occasion. Whenever she set herself to a task, she accomplished it, without fail. Harry supposed this was no different. He would have to deal with her after all, it seemed.

* * *

A knock sounded on the door and Hermione rose to answer it. She was surprised to see Professor McGonagall accompanied by a very haggard looking human couple and an all too familiar goblin. 

"Griphook," Hermione said in surprise, ignoring McGonagall and the others.

"Ms. Granger," he said bowing his head slightly. His behavior was unexpected. He must want something.

"I see you already know Griphook," McGonagall said with a slight, weary smile, and then gestured at the couple. "This is John Marsh and Alice Seddings. They would like to speak with you."

Hermione gave McGonagall a questioning look. Though she was secret keeper, it was not customary for her to bring strangers to Headquarters without checking with Hermione first. McGonagall just nodded in a reassuring way.

"I must get back to the school," she said curtly, leaving without explanation.

John and Alice looked awkwardly at each other and didn't speak. Griphook looked around the room silently, with a disapproving air.

"Would you like to sit down?" Hermione asked, gesturing at the table.

"We should be getting to bed," Lavender said pointedly, and many of the other Order members scattered throughout the kitchen agreed, leaving only Ron, Hermione, Arthur and Ginny around the table.

"Ginny, you must be tired too," Hermione said. "Why don't you go up to bed as well?"

"I could never sleep," Ginny answered with wide eyes. "I'd rather stay here."

"Your mother could probably use help with George," Arthur added. Hermione was grateful that he was unknowingly aiding her in getting Ginny, with her questionable loyalty, out of the room.

Ginny protested for a few moments before realizing she wouldn't win and shuffling out of the room, casting angry looks at them all.

Hermione looked back at the group now seated around the table and, as though she was channeling Molly Weasley, she stood back up and began preparing food for them. John and Alice especially looked as though they hadn't eaten in a long time.

If Hermione had to guess, she would say that they were in their very early thirties, but their faces were pale and drawn, their eyes tired, and their hair showing streaks of gray that made them look much older. Their robes were more similar to rags than anything else, and their skin was covered with tiny cuts and larger scars. As Hermione placed a bowl of reheated soup on the table, she wondered idly when the last full moon had been.

"Thank you," they said, taking bowls of soup and eating greedily. Griphook just sniffed his and turned up his nose at it.

"I assume you have heard what has happened to the High Goblin Council," Griphook said without preamble.

Hermione nodded. "I'm so sorry," she said sincerely.

"They were fools for aligning themselves with him," Griphook said indifferently. "But I am just as much to blame as anyone else. I was thought of as something of a Harry Potter authority, and they came to me for an idea of his character. I had no idea at the time that he was being influenced by He Who Must Not Be Named. It should have been obvious to those who had contact with him, and I daresay it was, but they chose to ignore that unpleasant fact in hopes that his promises would be upheld."

Hermione was surprised at Griphook's indifferent tone but she supposed she shouldn't have been. She had gotten to know Griphook quite well in the time they had spent together shut up in Shell Cottage. She could assume that rather than grief or despair at the fate of his fellow goblins, he would feel little more than hurt pride and a fierce sense of retribution toward the one who had betrayed them.

"In the past, goblins have fiercely avoided being subservient to any non-goblin master," he continued in a businesslike tone. "It was an error to have set aside our values in the hopes of gaining rights that we have been denied. We should have known better. We will not make that mistake again. Wizards and goblins will not be united again."

"Then why are you here?" Ron asked bluntly. His voice was husky and rasping and Hermione had to remind herself that he hadn't slept in days, and had been tortured, held captive, and escaped Death Eaters just the day before, as well as breaking into Azkaban and flying miles over the ocean in the cold autumn air. He must be feeling little patience for this long disliked goblin.

Griphook's eyes rested on Ron with a cold, calculating expression. He seemed to be sizing him up. After a while, he turned back to Hermione, addressing her.

"You were children when last I aided you," he said finally. "So young to be fighting so many. You were fighting He Who Must Not Be Named, you were fighting Death Eaters, you were fighting the Ministry in a way, and you were fighting old ideals and beliefs held by most in the wizarding community. I aided you not because of the sword, but because I saw that perhaps, though your chances of succeeding were slim, you represented a new way of thinking. You and Mr. Potter treated me in a way that no wizard had treated me before. I saw that I disgusted you, but you still treated me as though I was an equal. It wasn't forced. It seemed natural, as though there was no other way.

"I helped you though I believed you would betray me in the end. I could have taken the sword from you on many occasions before I did, but I chose to help you in your mission first. Regardless of wizard-goblin relations, regardless of loyalties, allegiances, and prejudices, I knew that what you were doing was necessary to destroy a mutually detested force. I did not know why you needed to get into the Lestrange vault, but I knew your reasoning went beyond any notions I might have of your kind. Putting aside my own beliefs, I helped you, above all, because you were children, and you were so young to be fighting so many."

"We aren't children any more," Hermione said, growing a bit impatient herself now.

"No," he said. "And I daresay you weren't even then, not really anyway."

"Then why are you here?" Ron asked again. Hermione had to restrain herself from kicking him under the table.

"The goblins will not pay allegiance to any wizard," he said. "But Harry Potter has now wronged us in a way that will not go unpunished. We will be engaging in our own actions against the man, but we would like to offer our services to you as well if you should need us, but for a price."

"We don't have any gold," Hermione said quickly.

"Not gold," he said, a sneer spreading across his face. "Bodies."

"What?" Hermione asked.

"We want any Death Eaters you capture alive, and to be free to dispose of them in any way we desire."

"Wha...We ca—no!" Hermione said, getting flustered.

"Done," Ron said, standing up and shaking the goblin's hand.

"Ron, no!" Hermione said. "This is awful. We can't just hand people over, people who might just be misguided and following him from fear! We can't just encourage them to kill!"

"This is war, Hermione," he said. "And what would we do with anyone we captured? We could have taken the Death Eaters who survived at Azkaban last night and cost you-know-who some followers, but we didn't have anything to do with them if we took them."

Hermione hesitated. Ron did have a point, but Hermione still didn't like the idea. She felt like she was descending to Voldemort's level.

"We won't hand over anyone we think was acting from being Imperiused, or from good intentions," Hermione said finally.

"Fine," Griphook answered, standing up to leave. "I will be awaiting your owl when you have use for us."

He walked toward the door but turned as he placed his long fingered hand on the door knob.

"Harry Potter was a good man," he said, "but this turn hardly surprised me."

"Why?" Hermione asked, disbelieving.

"Unforgivable curses take a certain amount of hate, of inherent evil to cast. You should know that, Ms. Granger. Potter did not even hesitate to Imperius wizard and goblin alike at Gringotts. It takes a certain kind of wizard to be able to cast such curses, not that I disapprove."

"We were desperate," Hermione said, feeling protective of her old friend.

"Did you ever cast an Unforgivable?"

Hermione looked to the floor. She hadn't. The goblin left without another word.

"He doesn't know what he's talking about," Ron said, putting an arm around her and leading her back to the table. "Harry didn't have a choice."

"I know," Hermione said, but her answer might have been different if they didn't have an audience. Of course she knew that what Harry had done had been necessary, but she hadn't thought to cast the curse, and didn't know if she ever would have. And had it been necessary when he cast the Cruciatus curse on Carrow as she had learned he did at Hogwarts? How much had Voldemort's soul, even in its incomplete form, been affecting him even then? How much of what Harry had done had been influenced by him without her ever questioning it?

"Hermione!" the five year old Teddy Lupin yelled, rushing into the kitchen. Andromeda Tonks came in just behind him. "Grandma says I can't go outside and play but if _you_ tell her I can then I know she'll let me."

"Sorry," Andromeda said. "I told him to stay out of here until you were finished."

"It's okay," Hermione said. She knew it must be hard for the five year old to stay cooped up in the tiny house. Andromeda and Teddy had been brought to Headquarters for their protection shortly before the Ministry had fallen. Hermione doubted that Harry would have any reason to go after them, but she didn't want to take any chances.

"Your grandmother's right, you know Teddy," Hermione said, brushing the boy's hair out of his eyes. "You should probably just stay inside for now."

"But I want to go outside," he pleaded. "I hate it here, and I can't go in the living room because George is sick and Aunt Molly says he needs quiet."

"That's enough, Teddy," Andromeda said, casting a look at the two strangers, scooping the protesting five year old up into her arms, and leaving the room.

"Remus' son," the woman said quietly.

Hermione focused her attention back on Alice. It seemed her suspicions had been correct.

"You knew Lupin?" Ron asked. Alice nodded.

"He was a good man," John said. "I was very sorry to hear of his death, so soon after marrying Dora."

"You're werewolves?" Ron asked, finally catching up.

"Yes," John said, almost defensively.

"Brilliant!" Ron said, obviously taking the couple by surprise. "Are you going to help us? We thought Greyback had gotten all the werewolves on Voldemort's side."

Alice snorted. "We are not all Greyback," she said. "And we're not all stupid enough to believe what he says."

"No of course not," Hermione answered quickly. "But last time—"

"We weren't all on his side last time either," Alice continued. "Surely you knew of our involvement?"

Hermione felt her face grow warm as she shook her head. "We weren't exactly involved with the Order during the last war. We only knew that Lupin was working among the werewolves, trying to gain support, and for the most part failing."

Alice's expression softened. "For the most part, yes, but not completely. Some of us knew the truth, and there are more of us now."

"Greyback was held in the highest regard of all of us by you-know-who," John cut in, "And even he was treated as filth. Many of us realized that we would not hold a higher position under him than we did before."

"And many of us felt that what Greyback wanted was unacceptable even before it was clear that things weren't going to change. He's disgusting, what he does. Attacking children! The last full moon was particularly awful. He and a group of his mates got to about twenty new people in one night alone."

Hermione shuddered, wondering how she hadn't heard about that.

"But still, there are many who share his beliefs. Many think attacking as many as possible, creating as many new werewolves as we can is the best way to bring about change. If we're all werewolves, then there will be no one to hold us down."

"It makes sense," Hermione agreed. "In a completely cruel and unacceptable way, of course. But it makes sense."

"Remus always spoke very highly of Harry," Alice continued. "You should have seen the way his eyes lit up when he talked about him. I think he thought he was going to be the savior of us all—werewolves and otherwise."

"We probably would have followed him," John said, "With everything he was saying about equal rights, but he had Greyback's support. Anyone with Greyback's support can't be trusted."

"There aren't many of us who see through him," Alice said, "But those who do want to help you. I'm not sure how much help we'll be—"

"But we'll do what we can. Is there anything we can do now?"

"Thank you," Hermione said distractedly. She was trying to come to a very important decision. Where did the line fall between light and dark? Was it acceptable to do something in desperate times that would otherwise be unacceptable? Could a war be won, truly won, without resorting to desperate, and perhaps amoral means? Could she really ask of this couple what she wanted to? She herself had used Sectumsempra, an unquestionably dark curse, when she had been pressed to defend those she cared about. She had proven that even she was capable of doing truly terrible things. Did that make her no better than Voldemort?

Inexplicably, an image of Mad-eye Moody appeared in her mind, giving her a disapproving look and shouting at her to maintain "constant vigilance!" Moody wouldn't have hesitated having been given this opportunity, no matter what the moral stipulations might be.

"Yes, there is something you can do," she said crisply. "You can bring me Fenrir Greyback. Alive."

* * *

**A/N:** The chapter's a bit boring I'm sure, but necessary. Thanks to everyone who reviewed! The French Dark Lord gets 4,367 gold stars for his great reviews and for getting the chapter title reference. 

O: Perhaps I should have been more clear. I didn't mean that Muggle bombs are superior to magical methods at all. I meant that specific protections had been set up around Azkaban to prevent varying forms of magic, including wards to counteract the effects of specific potions and spells. They hadn't thought to protect against Muggle bombs precisely _because_ they are so inferior to what magic can do. I just meant that just because Muggle means are inferior doesn't mean they are useless. Think MacGyver (if that's how you spell it). And you're right, Hermione is not a natural fighter, but I don't recall her ever shying from battle before. She has always been ready to fight and was actually quite useful at the DoM until she was taken out. And the people she hit with Sectumsempra were severely injured, many of them killed. They didn't just "bleed a little." I'm sorry you feel that the battle went too smoothly, but I did not want to kill Ron and Hermione off since I still sort of need them (seeing as one is telling half the story). Thank you for reviewing, but please try not to review anonymously since I'd really like to answer valid criticisms like these without writing an epic author's note like this.


	13. Validōrum Nos Excipēmus

Minerva McGonagall had seen terrible things in her life, and that was putting it mildly. She had been a mere teenager when Grindewald was at the height of his powers; a student while he killed and tortured those who opposed him, hearing news of new deaths every day. She hadn't become very involved in that war, since it barely reached her country's shores, but she had witnessed the devastation wreaked by evil, all in the name of the greater good.

She had been a student during the time when Tom Riddle attended Hogwarts, and watched as the Basilisk was let lose upon the school. She had been the one to find Myrtle dead in the bathroom. It was the first dead body she had seen, but only the first…

Minerva had been one of the first to join the Order of the Phoenix during Voldemort's first rise to power. She had fought alongside the greatest wizards of the age, working to bring down the second genocidal Dark Wizard to ascend in her lifetime. She had watched friends, family, mentors, and students die brutally, her own parents, and her little sister cut down before her eyes. She had watched the world she loved descend into darkness and then, when all seemed lost, light shone from the most unlikely place. But that light was not to last.

The second war against Voldemort had been just as bloody, though in many ways, it had seemed worse to Minerva. The death of Albus changed her. She had thought that death no longer had the power to alter her in any way: she had seen so much of it, but she had been wrong. Albus' death had been the extinguishing of the one positive constant in the war torn world she had spent most of her life in. As long as Albus remained, there was hope. As long as Albus remained, they were safe. When he died, the real chaos began, and she felt powerless against it. Harry Potter had remained the only beacon of hope, of light.

She watched and encouraged children to fight to defend the school, and watched as they were killed. She watched as they died to protect a world they had barely had time to live in. She saw death, she saw treachery, she saw deceit, blood and hate. She saw war.

But nothing, nothing compared to this.

Her students were being bred to fight. They woke with the sun each morning and were led to classes where they were taught Unforgivable curses and other forms of Dark magic so terrible none of the professors had ever encountered them before. Every waking hour was spent drilling the students with lies and false values, as they practiced these new skills on each other. They were stripped or morality, of conscience, and of independent thought. They were taught that Muggles were beneath them and deserved to be controlled, or killed if they resisted. They were being taught to view themselves as superior. They were being taught that murder was a necessary evil, hate a natural and dominant instinct, and love nothing more than a weakness subscribed to by fools. Those who resisted were punished. Those who continued to resist disappeared. Minerva asked Neville about this, hoping he was smuggling them to safety as he had done before. He hadn't been. His eyes were hollow and empty when he answered. He had lost hope. They all had.

Their savior, their liberator, their bringer of light was now the bringer of darkness. Pandora's Box had been opened, but this time, not even hope remained.

Minerva tried to banish the visions of the sweet, quiet eleven year old who had defeated a mountain troll from her mind as she entered the Great Hall for breakfast. The boy she knew was dead. The monster sitting in the Headmaster's chair remained.

As Minerva took her seat on the Professor's platform, Potter rose from his own. This was her duty when he was absent, as he usually was, but this morning he would enforce his own, ridiculous rule.

The students rose as one, following Potter's silent command.

"Validōrum Nos Excipēmus," he said.

"Validōrum Nos Excipēmus" the students droned after him. "We, The Mighty, Shall Inherit."

It was the new school motto and students were required to chant it preceding each meal. Minerva liked the old motto far better, and found it far more useful.

Food appeared on the tables but the students didn't eagerly assault it as they once did. Rather than a lavish feast, the students were provided with little more than bland sustenance. It would, supposedly, build character as well as strength. Minerva moved her gruel-like food around on her plate, not eating it, cursing Gamp and his stupid laws of Elemental Transfiguration.

She used her time instead to covertly examine the students. They were eating silently at the tables, as was the rule, and it was eerie to sit in this room without the familiar garble of adolescent conversation. A month had passed since Potter came to Hogwarts, and the toll of his rule could be seen in each of their tired faces. The fear she saw there, the anger, and the despair hurt her, but every day more and more faces lost those emotions and turned into something far worse. They turned to blank indifference. The students were being brainwashed.

There were still some who hadn't been broken. She could see the fire in their eyes, and noted with pride that most of these students were her Gryffindors. She supposed it helped that she had more private access to them than she had to any of the other students, and wondered what the other heads of houses were doing to dissuade their students from succumbing. It was dangerous to openly contradict Potter, but Minerva was quite talented at knowing which students she could and could not trust. Flitwick had not been quite so lucky.

He had refused to follow Potter's new lesson plans, and had used his class time to try to refute what the students were being taught elsewhere. He had boldly declared the fallacy and horror of Potter's regime to students from every house, including Slytherin. He hadn't been seen in twenty seven days.

Flitwick had survived three wizard wars. Four was too many for anyone to escape unscathed. She wondered idly how many days she herself had left. She would die protecting her students, she knew. Rather than frighten her, the thought comforted her, and kept her from complete despair.

Her eyes rested on Potter, sitting in the chair Albus Dumbledore, Minerva's own hero had once sat in, looking out over the students with a satisfied expression, and a slight half smile.

He still resembled Harry Potter in many ways. His features hadn't yet begun to blur, as she had seen with Tom Riddle. His black hair still sat wildly on his head, though his fringe no longer hid his scar. Though his expressions were entirely different, and his face was drawn and pale, his features remained the same. The major difference lay in his eyes. They were still green, yes, and probably the same shade they had always been, but they weren't Lily's eyes. They weren't Harry Potter's eyes. Their brilliant depth had shallowed, and much of the light had gone out.

He exuded power now, she had to admit. It was difficult sometimes, even for her, to stand in his presence without wanting to run and hide. She still stood tall, and still stood firm against him, as she knew she always would, but she feared him. She feared him more than she had feared Voldemort, and it disgusted her.

Exactly five minutes after the food had appeared, it vanished again. That was the rule. No more than five minutes was to be wasted on meals. The students had long ago ceased complaining or looking surprised. They accepted it. This was just the way it was.

Potter stood to speak and the already silent student body stiffened and turned toward him. Minerva watched as he stepped toward the podium and inwardly cringed as his voice began to echo throughout the hall.

"You have all been doing excellently in your lessons," he said. "I am pleased. In light of your accomplishments I have decided to implement a new incentive for a select group of excelling students. Those chosen will be given the chance to accompany Professor Malfoy, Professor Runcorn, or our new Charms teacher, Professor Simons on special field trips designed to give you the chance to put your new skills to practical use away from the school. You will be given not only the opportunity to demonstrate all you have learned, but the chance to reap the reward of your successes, as I believe these trips will be more entertainment than they are work. Those chosen will be notified by the Professors they will be accompanying. Validōrum Nos Excipēmus."

"Validōrum Nos Excipēmus," the students repeated again, and Potter Disapparated, taking advantage of the newly modified wards.

"We, The Mighty, Shall Inherit," the students continued, even after he had gone. And then they stood as one, formed neat lines by year and house, and efficiently set along the paths to their morning lessons.

* * *

Laying awake in bed, Hermione attempted to gather her thoughts. The sun was rising, but Hermione hadn't yet slept. She hadn't slept much at all in the last month. Things had not been going well, though she consoled herself that Voldemort hadn't advanced much in his plans either.

The Order had been doing little more than halting the progress of Voldemort and his minions, without actually reclaiming any of the victories he had already achieved. He had attempted a move on the Prime Minister's office, but had been unsuccessful. Two Aurors turned Order members and six unsuspecting Muggles had been killed in defending the Prime Minister, but Voldemort had been unable to take the office. Kingsley had managed to move the Prime Minister to safety in time, and those remaining behind had managed to keep him from reaching anyone else of importance. Voldemort hadn't been expecting to be met by more than one Wizard in his attack, so had arrived alone. It was foolish, but they couldn't count on him to overlook something like that again. He was no longer underestimating the Order, and they would have to afford him the same dubious honor.

Hunting Hermione had become something of a sport for Voldemort, though he hadn't quite allowed it to reach the level of his past obsession with finding Harry. He had learned from that mistake, she assumed. He rarely ventured out himself to find her, but she knew that there was a whole group of Death Eaters whose sole purpose was to find and kill her. Parvati told her that Voldemort said he would like the pleasure of killing Hermione himself, but wouldn't be greedy. The one to find and kill her would be rewarded beyond all others.

Parvati was another problem. Though Voldemort suspected her, she insisted on continuing her role as spy, despite Hermione's pleas that she desist. It was only a matter of time before she was caught, and Hermione didn't want to think about what would happen to her when she was. Death would be a relief compared to what Voldemort would do to her, Hermione knew. Parvati was now a double agent. It wasn't quite as complicated as it had been with Snape, because Voldemort assumed that Hermione knew nothing of Parvati's involvement with him. She didn't have to worry about her cover being blown by passing information to Hermione, because Voldemort wouldn't know it came from her. She only had to manage passing Voldemort a convincing mix of truth and lies regarding the Order, which she handled masterfully. Hermione still couldn't believe what had become of the giggling little girl she had once known.

And then there was Ginny. Hermione still couldn't believe what had become of that girl she had once known either. Hermione had given Ginny a test. She had given her information that no one else had, false information, and it had been leaked to Voldemort. After that, Hermione had felt justified in giving Ginny Veritaserum and what they had learned from her had been sickening. Ginny had approached the form of Harry on her own, without persuasion. She had been so damaged by the shattering of her dream so close to its fruition all those years ago that she had joined him. All it had taken was one kiss, and she had become not only his follower, not only his spy, but his lover as well. She laughed as she told them. She had betrayed them all for a morbid, obsessive love that should have paled in comparison to the love she should have felt for her family. Words Professor Slughorn had once spoken came back to Hermione clearly now, though she had scoffed at them at the time: "When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love."

But no, that wasn't quite right. Ginny had been consumed by Lord Voldemort once before as well, but that time all it had taken was the promise of love and acceptance. Tom Riddle's diary had listened to her, had consoled her and given her the illusion that she was cared for. She had given herself completely to him, just as she had now given herself completely to this new evil, for nothing more than an offer of love. How had Ginny, the product of such a loving family, become someone so completely, utterly, pathetically diffident?

The family had been devastated by Ginny's betrayal, and possibly more so by the actions it elicited. They couldn't treat her as they would have someone else, but they couldn't just send her back to Voldemort either, so they had been forced to keep her restrained here, in the basement of Headquarters. Molly now divided most of her time between tending to George, who still hadn't recovered, and sitting with Ginny, weeping, and trying to get her to talk. But Ginny remained silent. She refused to speak.

Molly, it seemed, had finally cracked. She lost Fred, she lost Harry, she may have lost George, and now she had lost Ginny too. Who could have expected her to withstand so much loss?

"You awake?" Ron asked from beside Hermione, sounding completely awake despite the early hour. Molly's refusal to let the couple sleep in the same bed had died once it became clear that there weren't nearly enough beds to go around as it was.

Hermione sighed. "Yes."

"What are we doing here?" Hermione was shocked by the rough, hardened tone of Ron's voice. "We should be requiring unbreakable vows from everyone in the order. Haven't we learned anything?"

"We can't do that, Ron," she said with more confidence than she felt. "It would be unethical."

"Unethical?" Ron snorted. "I think we're past the point of ethical, dear," he said with a trace of bitterness.

"That's debatable," Hermione said coldly, not wanting to discuss the ethics of war, and of good and evil, with Ron so early in the morning; not wanting to discuss ethics at all.

"I want to see him," Ron said quietly after a moment of silence.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"What? You've seen him; you've talked to him. I want to too."

"He'd kill you," Hermione said flatly.

"He didn't kill you."

"He needed me. Why do you want to see him, anyway?"

"I just…I don't know. After all this time of fighting, I feel like I need to know for sure—I mean it's not that I don't believe everyone obviously, but it's Harry, and—"

They were interrupted by a loud bang, a crash, and a scuffle coming from below, followed by a growl and a scream. Hermione and Ron both jumped from the bed and rushed downstairs.

Hermione came into the kitchen to find two people standing over a third, prostrate figure. One of them turned to face her. It was Alice, the werewolf Hermione hadn't seen in a month.

"We got him," she said, panting. Blood was trickling from her lip, her graying hair and tattered robes were disheveled, and she had a black eye. John didn't look much better. Hermione felt a rush of affection for these people she barely knew.

Hermione edged slowly into the room, peering down at the figure on the ground. He was laying on his stomach with his hands bound behind his back. His face was pressed to the ground, aided by John's large boot, so that Hermione couldn't see him properly, but she would know that smell anywhere. Blood, sweat, dirt…

"Greyback," she whispered.

He laughed an awful, rasping, laugh, into the floor, and John lifted his foot.

"We met?" Greyback asked venomously, lifting his head and peering at her through swollen eyes. "The Mudblood," he said after a minute, his expression turning to a sneer. "I remember."

"Get him up," she spat, and Ron and John pulled Greyback to his feet, pushing him against the wall. Hermione stepped closer to him.

His disgusting face was so close to hers, she could make out every detail of his matted gray hair and of the sores at the corners of his mouth. His pointed teeth were barred in a revolting leer, stained with the blood of an unknown victim. She could feel his hot breath on her skin; she could smell the rank scent of blood and decay. _"Delicious girl…"_ She could hear his sickening rasping voice from all those years ago as though he were speaking now, _"What a treat…I do enjoy the softness of the skin…."_ Her stomach turned. _His coarse, claw-like hands moved across her skin as he pulled her from the tent, dragging his yellowed fingernails across her bare stomach as he tore her shirt, dragging her toward Harry and Ron, panting._

She clutched her wand at her side. It quivered in her hand. _"Delicious girl." _That putrid stench was infesting her nostrils. _"I do enjoy the softness of the skin…"_ She raised her wand to his face. It would be so easy. Just two little words and he'd be dead; just one and he'd wish he was. So easy…

She spun on her heel and walked back to the other side of the kitchen, turning back to face the scum, but she didn't cast a spell.

"Thank you Alice, John," she said calmly, her eyes still trained on Greyback. "Ron, will you contact the goblins? I believe we'll have a gift for them, but first, Greyback and I have some things to discuss."

* * *

**A/N:**Sorry if I butchered the Latin, but hey, I'm not a linguist. Oh wait, I think that degree I'm about to get says that I am. Well, that doesn't mean I speak every language fluently so if anyone can correct it, I'd appreciate it.

Thanks to my wonderful reviewers!


	14. Coming to Terms

Molly Weasley would be damned if she was going to let Harry Potter keep her from going to her own home. There was a potion that she thought might help George. It took a full month to brew, and couldn't even be started until the full moon, but she had a store of it at the Burrow. Everyone told her not to go. Everyone told her that Harry would likely have Death Eaters watching the Burrow in case any of them let down their guard to return. Everyone told her that Harry would capture or kill her if he found her. She told Everyone to go to hell. Her son could be dying. She wasn't going to let such a ridiculous threat keep her from doing everything she could to save him. And she didn't buy for one minute that Harry would ever cause her harm. No matter what he had become, he was still Harry, she was sure of it, and her Harry would never hurt her.

Unfortunately, Everyone had been right. That was her first thought upon seeing the heavily cloaked and hooded figure sitting in the dark at the scrubbed kitchen table at the Burrow. Her second thought was "shit."

She stood rooted to the spot, staring at the man who slowly raised his head and met her eyes. Green eyes, round glasses, so familiar, like one of her own sons.

She didn't make a move to run. It was stupid perhaps, but she had no choice. Many things kept her there: she supposed fear was a part of it, but there was more. Part of it was anger at the boy she had considered one of her own. Part of it was a refusal to let him dictate what she did in her life any more than he already had, but most of all, she stayed because this was not Lord Voldemort sitting at her kitchen table. This was Harry, and as a mother, she saw that he needed her.

His face was partially obscured by his hood and the only feature she could clearly make out was his eyes. They were sad and scared, but mostly they were tired. They were not the eyes of the Dark Lord.

"Harry," she breathed, her word puncturing the thick silence that had fallen in the room. He didn't speak.

"Oh, Harry," she said again, struggling to no avail to hold her tears.

Molly's weeping was the only sound as Harry continued to look at her. Finally, in a voice so quiet she could barely hear him, he spoke.

"You're not afraid of me?"

"Not of you, dear, no. It's Him I'm afraid of."

Harry lowered his eyes. He looked utterly dejected. Was this the terrible threat she and her family had been fighting against? He seemed less dangerous than a garden gnome. This was her Harry sitting before her, she was sure of it.

"I've done terrible things," he whispered.

"No, you haven't, Harry. He has."

Harry's head snapped up, and for a moment, she saw a flash of what he had become.

"It's been me, not Voldemort," he hissed. "I'm…I'm responsible." The anger left his voice with these last two words, and he sounded almost repentant.

"My Harry would never do those things," Molly answered quietly, not sure if she'd be killed for her insolence. "I know he's in you, Harry. Maybe he's making you think you're in control, but I know you're not."

He lowered his eyes again.

"Maybe," he whispered so quietly she could barely hear. "But then, I'm just weak. And this is still all my fault."

"It's not your fault," she said firmly. "You…" What could she possibly say? "You did your best." She was amazed at the emptiness of her attempted consolation. She felt like she was consoling one of her children for not winning a Quidditch game, rather than for failing to keep Lord Voldemort from possessing and controlling them.

"I could have done more," he whispered. "I could have tried harder. I could have thrown myself in front of a bus. I could have…" He trailed off.

She moved toward him, not really sure what she was going to do, but thinking of hugging him.

He stood up suddenly, drawing his wand, and she stepped back. His eyes were no longer dejected and sad. They were dead.

He looked at her, and she looked at him. She felt no sympathy or love for the creature now standing before her. This wasn't her Harry. This was Lord Voldemort. She now felt fear, but above all, she felt anger.

After what felt like eternity he spoke.

"You will not be so lucky again."

Without another word, he turned on the spot and Disapparated, leaving Molly shaking with fear in her own kitchen.

* * *

He didn't know why he had gone to the Burrow. It was not something one usually did in the midst of killing innocents and planning world domination, but something unknown had drawn him there. He had vague ideas of finding information on the Order's hideout that his Liberators had missed, but that was all but impossible considering that it was under the Fidelius charm. 

No, something more had drawn him there; something he didn't want to admit to himself. He had felt…What had he felt? Was it regret? It couldn't be. He had moved past such petty emotions.

But when? When had he moved past them? And why? He didn't want to feel those things. He was above those things. But was it him who had moved past them or was it Voldemort?

He thought he knew where he stood. He was Harry Potter. Voldemort was a presence in him, but not the dominant force driving him. Voldemort was subservient to him. Harry was in control. But was that true?

He tried to step back from his own mind; to discern exactly where Harry left off and Voldemort begin. He tried to make sense of his actions and how much of them were of his own volition. He found it nearly impossible. When had Voldemort become so much a part of him that he didn't even feel the difference? He hadn't even noticed the change.

When he thought back, he realized that in the beginning, Voldemort had been entirely separate. When he had killed Lucius, and when he was on the run, Voldemort had actually been speaking to him in his mind. He was able to switch back and forth between the two consciousnesses. At St. Mungo's even, Voldemort had still been talking to him, but then, Harry had willingly accepted Voldemort into his consciousness. Is that when it had changed?

When he thought about it now, he realized that Voldemort hadn't spoken to him since that day. Why hadn't he questioned this before now? It was as though in accepting Voldemort's influence, they had merged into one. If that was the case, how much of what he was doing was of his own will? It wasn't as though he regretted anything he had done, but he didn't like the idea of acting on the will of another.

He remembered clearly the events of his former life, but the emotions he had felt during that time eluded him. It was only when he came to places where he had felt particularly strong emotions that he was able to recall them with any clarity. And even then, it felt as though something foreign was invading his mind. Shouldn't it be the other way around? Shouldn't Voldemort's thoughts and emotions feel foreign to him rather than his own?

For a moment, the idea that he was no longer Harry at all but Voldemort flittered across his mind, but that was impossible. He could be certain that these thoughts he was having now were his own. If he was Voldemort, he wouldn't be having these thoughts, and if Voldemort was in control of him, these thoughts wouldn't be allowed.

He had powers equal to and in some ways, surpassing those of Lord Voldemort. There was no doubt that this was the direct result of Voldemort's presence within him. He had Voldemort's memories, but they came to him as easily as if they were his own. Sometimes he recalled a particular event and had trouble deciding whose memory it actually it was. Surely this effect wasn't limited to memories, but permeated his reactions to things and decisions regarding courses of action as well?

He had been under the impression that he, Harry Potter, had chosen to take this path into, as they called it, "Darkness." He had been betrayed by those who claimed to love him. He had sacrificed everything for those who would so easily abandon him. He had seen, through their actions, the superficiality of those values and beliefs he had once clung to so dearly; he had once fought for. He had felt the ecstasy of power and control and had embraced it, not because he had become Lord Voldemort, but because he had seen the errors of his previous ways. But was this completely true?

He had gone to the Burrow unclear of his intentions. He had walked through the familiar yard where he had once played Quidditch, were he had once had a row with the Minister for Magic and told him he was "Dumbledore's man through and through." He had seen the garden he had once degnomed after escaping from the Dursleys, feeling happier and more at home on that morning than he ever had before. It was the yard where he had been given Molly Weasley's dead brother's watch on his seventeenth birthday and where, without words, he had been shown that he truly was a part of their family. He had gone into the kitchen where Molly had made him more delicious meals than he could count. He had gone into the living room where he had once spent Christmas listening to Celestina Warbeck and talking to Remus Lupin about his father. He had gone upstairs and couldn't resist going into Ginny's room, where he had shared a kiss that never left his thoughts during his time on the run from the force he had now embraced. He had, for the first time, had doubts.

It was different at Hogwarts and in the Forbidden Forest, because this was a place where only Harry had memories. Voldemort had never set foot in the Burrow and Harry therefore was free to feel his own memories without the confusion of Voldemort's interfering.

Coming back into the kitchen with the intention of leaving, he found himself unable to walk back through the door. He sat at the kitchen table and tried to suppress the emotions forcing their way into his consciousness. And then, in an almost impossible coincidence, Molly Weasley had arrived.

For a moment, he had considered killing her, but he found he just didn't have the energy. He was so tired, and these strange emotions were definitely taking their toll on him. He should have left right away, but something had kept him there.

She hadn't been afraid of him. She had told him that she didn't blame him for what he had done. He wasn't responsible.

But he _was_ responsible. Didn't she understand? He _had _done those things. He had felt, during that conversation, the first stirrings of guilt and regret. Those feeling had vanished quickly, but he had felt them, and now he didn't know quite what to do with them.

She had made a move to hug him, and he had reacted in anger. Molly Weasley could love anyone she felt needed love, but he was not going to allow her to…forgive him? Was that why he had reacted that way? Because he didn't deserve her sympathy? Or because he didn't want it as he originally assumed? Admittedly the idea of a Mrs. Weasley hug hadn't repulsed him. That alone was reason enough to suspect that he was not totally under the influence of Voldemort, but it was dangerous nonetheless. He had chosen his path. It was too late to turn back now. These misgivings meant nothing. They were unfounded and the result of nothing more than the residue of his former self. He would not allow himself to question himself any further. This was simply the way things were; this was simply who he was now. Voldemort had influenced him, there was no point in denying it, but he had willingly accepted his influence. He and Voldemort were one. It was not something to regret, but something to embrace. There was no other way and, even if there was, Harry was not going back. He was Harry Potter and he was Lord Voldemort. Distinctions between the two were no longer relevant. He would continue on the path fate had chosen for him. And he would continue without regret.

* * *

"So what did he do to you?" Alice asked bluntly. 

Hermione felt her cheeks grow warm as she looked down at the table where she and Alice sat. She was unable to meet the werewolf's eyes.

"You know he was the one who bit me?" Alice said conversationally when she didn't answer, and Hermione's eyes snapped up to meet hers.

"He was?" she asked, not altogether sure why she was surprised.

Alice nodded. "I was fifteen and home from Hogwarts over break after fifth year. My father was a Death Eater and when my mum found out she left him, but she didn't bother to go into hiding. The Death Eaters came and killed Mum because my father asked them to kill us, but Greyback wanted me for himself."

Hermione stared at Alice, not sure how to respond. She had spoken lightly, as though she were telling Hermione about a particularly unexciting Quidditch game rather than these terrible events.

"I'm s-sorry," Hermione stuttered finally, but Alice waved her off.

"It was a long time ago."

"But you can't be much younger than Lupin," Hermione said against her will. "Surely he would have known if there was another werewolf at Hogwarts with him."

"I never went back," she said simply. "Greyback was trying to rally the werewolves and I wanted no part of it."

"But he wouldn't have been able to get to you at Hogwarts, would he have?"

"Probably not, but I already had my O.W.L.s, and to be honest, I wasn't really thinking clearly. Dad had just betrayed us, Mum was dead…I sort of had a meltdown to be honest."

"So what did you do?" Hermione asked quietly, trying to imagine what this woman had gone through at such a young age.

"Well, after a year or so of living on the streets of Muggle London, John found me and helped me realize that just because I was a werewolf, I wasn't necessarily evil. He introduced me to a lot of other werewolves who were living on the fringes of society, but still managing to live among wizards. Remus was one of them. After enough time passed, I changed my name and came back out into the open. The Ministry still knew I was a werewolf, but You-Know-Who and Greyback didn't know who I was. By then, I don't think they really cared much anymore anyway."

"You changed your name?"

"Yeah," Alice answered, and for the first time Hermione heard a jagged bitterness in her voice. "My name was Dorothée Dolohov."

Hermione drew her breath in quickly. "Dolohov? You're related to Antonin Dolohov?"

"I _was_ related to him," she corrected. "He was my father. Let me guess: You've had run-ins with him?"

"He almost killed me in my fifth year," she said quietly.

Alice crossed her arms and looked away, biting her lip. It was hard to read her expression. Was it anger?

"It doesn't matter though," Hermione said quickly. "We're not going to judge you for it here. I mean, the old Headquarters was donated by Sirius Black."

Alice snorted. "Lupin did mention something about Black being innocent. I didn't believe him at the time. But anyway, I told you my story, now you tell me yours. What did Greyback do to you? Don't bother denying it. I saw the way you looked at him. You've got revenge on your mind."

Hermione looked away again. She suddenly felt very embarrassed. She didn't have nearly as much of a reason for a personal vendetta against Greyback as Alice did.

"Well, he really hasn't done anything all that terrible to me, especially compared to what he's done to people like you and Lupin…"

"Don't do that," Alice said. "He hurt you in some way. Don't make it seem like it wasn't a big deal."

"But it really wasn't anything. He would have done more but we escaped before he could. It's more just who he is, I guess. He's disgusting. I'd rather die painfully at the hands of Voldemort himself than have Greyback ever lay another claw on me," she finished vehemently.

"What about Greyback?" Bill asked, coming into the room. He nodded at Alice, whom he hadn't yet met. She was looking curiously at his face, but with an open expression. Usually, when people met Bill for the first time, they had trouble looking at him, and refused to look into his eyes. If they did, it was always with pity.

"Oh, well…er…" Hermione said, reluctant to tell Bill the truth. "We've…Well we've got him."

Bill's expression was unreadable, but she thought she saw his fists clench.

"Are those from a werewolf?" Alice asked, gesturing at his face.

Bill looked at her now, as though trying to make sense of her. He nodded. "Greyback actually."

"You're a werewolf?" Alice asked uncertainly.

"No," Bill answered. "He wasn't transformed when he attacked me."

"I'm sorry," Alice said flatly, with a disgusted expression. "He's not…we're not all…"

"Bill, this is Alice," Hermione cut in. "She's been working for us. I think I mentioned her in a meeting a while back."

Bill nodded, still looking at Alice.

"I know you're not all like Greyback, if that's what you were going to say," he said firmly. "Hermione, where is he?"

"He's downstairs—"

"With Ginny?" he cut in.

"No, we moved her into a bedroom upstairs."

"He's alone down there?"

"No; John, Alice's friend, is guarding him. They were the ones who brought him to us." Hermione smiled appreciatively at Alice.

"What are you going to do with him?"

"Give him up to the goblins eventually. I've questioned him a bit, but I was afraid I was going to get too carried away. It's hard to think clearly when that monster is in the room. I would have started using Unforgivables, I think, if Ron hadn't suggested that we calm down before questioning him anymore. Honestly though, I don't think we'll get much more out of him. Ron's already gone to get the goblins."

"Does he know anything?" Bill asked.

Hermione shook her head. "It's pathetic, really. He's little more than a rallying point for werewolves, and hired savagery. I don't think he's anything more to Voldemort than something he can use to threaten people. He did tell us where Voldemort's working out of, though: Malfoy Manor. Apparently he's too smug to bother with the Fidelius charm. Do you…Do you want to see him?" she finished tentatively.

"No," Bill answered at once.

"No?" Hermione was surprised. "Why not?"

Bill shrugged and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, the door to the kitchen opened and Ron came through, followed by a group of goblins.

"He's in the basement," Ron said, pointing at the cellar door. "Do you want help?"

"We can handle it," an unfamiliar goblin said snidely, leading his group down the stairs.

Only a few minutes passed before the goblins returned in the kitchen, carrying the unconscious, heavily bound and bloody form of Fenrir Greyback.

"Thank you," the leader said as they passed on their way back out the door.

"What are you going to do to him?" Hermione asked curiously, with only slight misgivings.

"Oh, he'll be killed," the goblin answered, "but not for a while yet. We intend to show You-Know-Who exactly what happens to those who cross us."

As the goblins left, Molly came in, squeezing by the last of the goblins on their way out the door. She didn't seem to notice them at all as she entered. She was shaking and her eyes were red, as though she had been crying.

"Is everything okay, Mum?" Bill asked, moving over to her.

"Oh, yes," she said unconvincingly. She was carrying a potion in her hand which she handed to Hermione. "Give this to George, will you?"

"You went to the Burrow?" Hermione scolded as she took the potion.

Molly ignored her. "I need to see Ginny. Is she still downstairs?"

"No, she's in the third floor bedroom. Molly, what happened?"

Molly waved her off as she pushed past her and out of the room.

Those remaining in the kitchen exchanged confused looks before Hermione went in to where George had been laying unconscious in the living room for over a month. His face was deathly pale, and he hardly seemed to be breathing. His wife, Lavinia, was sitting beside him, looking nearly as pale.

"Is that the potion Molly said might help?" she asked hopefully.

Hermione nodded and uncorked the vial. Before she could pour it into George's mouth, a scream came from somewhere overhead.

"She's gone!" Molly shouted, running frantically down the stairs. "Ginny's gone!"

* * *

**A/N:** Bleck, I hate this chapter, especially the last section, but everything needed to happen, and I just couldn't seem to make it work right, so I decided to post it as it is and get working on the next, which I think will prove to be a lot better. Normally I would just keep working on it, but I'm trying to get this story at least close to done before school starts up again. 


	15. The Last Train

_Thick white smoke billowed from the train, swirling around Platform 9 ¾, making it difficult to discern the features even of those standing near. A small family was gathered across the platform, suddenly visible against the pure white background. A young boy, who seemed slightly familiar, ran to his parents excitedly and seemed to exuberantly share something with them, before hugging them goodbye and getting on the train. The tall, black haired man the boy had hugged knelt down in front of his other young son, a miniature version of himself, and seemed to be reassuring him. The boy was no doubt nervous about leaving home for the first time, or perhaps fearful of being sorted into the wrong house at Hogwarts. Comforted, the boy moved away from his father and hugged his red headed mother goodbye._

_Harry watched the scene from a distance, but moved closer now. There was a little girl with them as well, too young to be going to Hogwarts. He heard the man call her Lily. The little girl spun around in a happy circle, her vibrant red hair swirling around her, but stopped when she saw Harry standing there. She was beautiful. He felt, somehow, like he knew her, but that couldn't be._

_"Daddy?" she asked, looking at him curiously, and then her gaze shifted back to the man with her. She tugged on her father's arm and pointed at Harry. The man looked up, and Harry met his eyes. They were his own, he realized, before a high pitched screaming pierced the air. The man didn't seem to notice. _

_Harry closed his eyes, trying to drown out the sound somehow, but the screaming continued, until it became crying, but it wasn't regular crying. It wasn't the sound of an upset little girl. It was the sound of a monster. He knew that sound._

_He opened his eyes to try to find the source. The train was moving now, and the man that resembled Harry was following, waving with a bittersweet smile at his son who hung out of the window. He and his family seemed to have forgotten Harry's presence there on the platform. As the train rolled along the tracks and out of sight, the man lowered his arm and turned to face Harry again._

_"The train has gone," he said simply, in a hollow voice that carried along the platform. _

_Harry looked back at the little girl called Lily. She was laughing wildly now, pointing at something lying by her on the ground. With a jolt, Harry realized that it was the thing emitting that terrible wailing, thumping noise._

_"Look, Daddy. It's a baby!"_

_Harry looked, because he was Daddy now. He was the man he had seen across the platform. He looked and he saw something like a baby, but it was grotesque, misshapen, deformed. _

_"Honey, don't touch it," the red haired woman said. Harry looked at the woman, expecting to find Ginny, but he couldn't see her face. No. He could see it, but it wasn't there. Her long red hair framed her face, but it was nothing more than a smooth, featureless blur. _

_Lily didn't heed her faceless mother and approached the thing writhing on the ground, giggling._

_"Don't!" Harry yelled, lunging toward her, but she jumped back. Her eyes were fearful as she looked at him. She seemed to be on the verge of tears. How could she be afraid of him when she wasn't afraid of that thing writhing on the ground?_

_"Why, Daddy?" she asked, shaking. "Why did you do this to us?"_

_"What?" he asked. "I don't understand."_

_"Why?" she said again._

_But her face was distorted now too. Her features were becoming skewed and, to Harry's horror, he saw the skin of her face taking on the flailed texture of the deformed infant on the floor beside him._

_"No," he whispered. "Lily, no!" This girl was his daughter. He felt this fact strongly and completely, as though it were true. _

_At his words, her face returned to normal, but it was different somehow. Her expression was cold and hollow. She smiled a demented half smile._

_"The train has gone, Daddy," she said in a sing song voice._

_But Harry was no longer Daddy. He was on the ground. Helpless, flailing, wailing, unable to stand. He was the deformed infant. He was the mutilated body. The family was gone now, and he was the only soul left on the platform. _

_He heard someone whistling a slow, eerie tune in the distance that sounded vaguely familiar. Measured echoing footsteps slowly grew louder as the whistling man approached. Fear pierced Harry as both the whistling and the footsteps drew nearer. The fear was inexplicable but all consuming. He felt as though Death himself were approaching, and in his helpless state, he couldn't run; he couldn't escape._

_The man stood over him now, and Harry recognized him as the Muggle guard at King's Cross Station who had told him there was no train leaving at eleven-o-clock all those years ago. _

_"You've missed it," he said, and the fear within Harry reached an unbearable level. "It's gone." _

* * *

Harry awoke sweating and confused, but pushed the dream from his thoughts almost immediately. There was too much to be done for him to allow time to dwell on a nightmare.

Ginny had come earlier in the day, and he was furious. The true loyalty of the idiotic woman had been discovered, and rather than feigning repentance, she had escaped from the Order, making her entirely useless to him. The look on her face had been almost comical when he told her this. Her expression, at first excited and relieved at not having to pretend anymore, had fallen at once and morphed into anguish. It had been difficult not to laugh at the sight.

"No matter," he had told her. "We'll find a use for you yet, I suppose."

She perked up slightly at his smile, likely assuming it was one of affection rather than amusement, but there was a flash of something else in her eyes. Was it indignation? It couldn't be. She was broken, he knew. Still, he might need to watch her more carefully.

But Ginny was not his only problem. Greyback had gone missing the night before and hadn't answered Harry's summons. This was very unlike Greyback, and Harry knew something must have happened to him. It would be a shame if something had. He was useful to have around. But if it wasn't death or imprisonment keeping him from answering Harry's call, then he would soon meet such a fate.

Harry left his bedroom in Malfoy Manor and began the long trek to the library. He could Apparate, but many of his followers were staying at the Manor, and Harry liked to give them an impression of omnipresence. None living there had yet so much as said a word against him, but he wanted to keep it that way if he could.

Hushed voices drifted out from the dining room as Harry passed, and he stopped to hear what they were saying.

"Well you go wake him up if ya think it's that important," the voice of Amycus Carrow said quietly. "But I'm telling ya, he don't care about the goblins."

"What exactly is it that I don't care about, Amycus?" Harry asked, coming into the room. Those present fell immediately silent and averted their eyes. Amycus didn't answer, but Sinon Jones boldly stepped forward.

"My Lord," he said, bowing, "There are rumors. They are unsubstantiated, but they persist. There are rumors that the Goblins have taken revenge for your highly justified acts against the High Goblin Council. There is, according to these rumors, a message waiting for you outside Gringotts."

"And none of you have felt it proper to investigate such claims before informing me of them?"

"Well, they's saying the Goblins is gonna kill any Death Eaters they find there."

"And you felt this threat, from wandless, inferior creatures, justified your inability to act in a way befitting of your position within my ranks?" Harry spoke calmly, and quietly, but there was thinly masked anger in his tone of which he knew they were all aware.

With few exceptions, his servants were incompetent. There were so few he could rely on for both loyalty and intelligence. Either he had Draco and the Carrows, infinitely loyal but pathetically incompetent, or Sinon Jones, whom Harry could count on to do his bidding, but whose actions lately had led Harry to question whether he truly followed Harry, or was only out for his own gain. The man undoubtedly craved power, which was a trait Harry admired greatly, but he couldn't be sure that Sinon wouldn't attempt some foolishness to take power from Harry himself. He had lately begun defying Harry in very small ways, but defying him nonetheless. Simple orders were being ignored. Small tokens of respect were being neglected. Harry had warned the man against such actions: He had in fact spent an entire afternoon warning him rather painfully, and he hadn't stepped out of line since, but still, Harry had been forced to pay closer attention to him. He longed for servants who wouldn't require constant supervision; whom he could trust completely. If he had such servants, he would no doubt be much further along in his plans than he currently was. It was tiresome, being forced to do everything by oneself.

He turned his attention back to his servants, each of whom looked quite nervous, except Sinon. Harry pushed gently into his mind and found that the man felt that his responsibilities as Minister for Magic put him above such small duties. He felt he was exempt from Harry's current anger, and was quite excited to see the punishments his fellow Death Eaters might now receive for their negligence.

"_Crucio,"_ Harry whispered, and there was one, brief, comical moment in which Sinon's eyes shown in hungry anticipation for the pain about to be inflicted on Carrow, before the pain coursed through his own body, and he fell to the ground, writhing in pain.

"My Lord?" he whispered weakly when Harry stopped the curse.

"You annoy me, Sinon," he said lightly in response.

The other Death Eaters snickered and Harry allowed it. Humiliation was often just as effective as pain in shaping the actions of people like Sinon.

"You are a figurehead and nothing more," Harry said when the laughing had subsided. "You would do well to remember that."

Without another word, Harry turned on the spot and Disapparated to Diagon Alley. Though the message from the Goblins was likely nothing more than a minor nuisance, he knew it was one that couldn't be ignored.

* * *

Professor McGonagall's house sat nestled in a mountain valley, surrounded on all sides by majestic, tree covered peaks. Hermione stood on a balcony overlooking a small lake, gazing up at the mountains. As though the earth had formed for the sole purpose of creating this view, the golden sun slowly lowered itself between two mountains, glittering on the smooth, silver surface of the lake, creating in it a mirror reflection of the glowing, autumn colored peaks.

It reminded Hermione of a different view, one she hadn't seen in over fifteen years, but one that had never left her memory, even though her mind had since been clogged with far more intrusive thoughts.

She had been seven, and her parents had decided that holidays to Paris and Majorca were fun, but that they weren't quite adventurous enough. This was the same side of her parents that had led them to name their daughter the unique and slightly pretentious name that they had. They were successful and well respected dentists, whose lives were generally very ordinary, but there was a part of them that craved something more. They decided to show Hermione another kind of travel, and took her hiking along a mountain range.

The first day had been, at that point in her life, the most miserable that Hermione had ever experienced, and they hadn't even climbed any mountains yet. She had been forced to carry a heavy pack on her back across narrow rock paths and through overgrown trails, while scrambling over large, slippery boulders, and up slanted, water covered slopes; while jumping from rock to rock over fast moving waters. She had been assaulted by gnats and flies, forced to endure hours of hiking until her legs threatened to give away and the heels of her shoes dug into the backs of her ankles, all the while struggling for breath. If she had had enough energy to speak, she would have spent the entire hike angrily chastising her parents for taking her on such a stupid and pointless trip, and Hermione got the feeling her mother felt the same way, but her father just plowed on with a look of grim determination on his face.

To make things worse, though the trails were clearly marked, they had somehow gotten lost. The sun was setting, and they were facing the reality of wandering around blindly in this immense, bear and wolf infested wilderness through the night.

Finally, just as the sun had completely given away to night, they stumbled across a lean-to. Hermione had angrily pulled her sleeping bag from her pack and stuffed herself into it, head and all, to keep the bugs from crawling on her face while she slept. She fell asleep almost immediately, without a word to either of her parents, on the cold, hard surface of the wooden lean-to. She had never had such a horrible day.

She awoke the next morning, unwilling to open her eyes. As long as she kept them closed, she could pretend that she was at home, in her soft bed, rather than deep in the woods, facing a day more miserable than the last.

Finally, the realization that her head had at some point come free from her protective sleeping bag cocoon, and could possibly be covered with spiders, forced her to open her eyes.

She drew her breath in sharply when she did. She had opened her eyes to see the most incredible sight she had ever seen. The very early morning sun was dawning over a lake Hermione hadn't known was there. A thick white mist layered the sparkling, golden water, and the tree covered mountains glowed in the light, giving the view an oddly surreal, almost magical quality.

The beauty of the view had, in that moment, made everything Hermione had suffered the day before worth it. It had been painful and difficult, but if it had led to this one sight Hermione knew she would never forget; this one moment where Hermione felt she could accomplish anything, then she knew it had been worth it.

That morning had changed her, she realized now as she looked upon a similar scene. It had been responsible for much of the person she had become. It had shown her that even if a goal wasn't in sight, it was worth reaching toward. It had shown her that anything was possible with a little hard work and determination. It had shown her that sometimes peace could find her, even when it was least expected.

She dwelled on that memory quite a bit during the initial fight against Voldemort, though she never shared it with Ron or Harry. Whenever things felt like too much to handle, she just closed her eyes for a moment, pictured that scene, and pushed ahead to confront the next obstacle.

It was this memory that helped her in this fight as well, but she found now that when she closed her eyes, the scene was becoming more and more difficult to picture clearly. The memory of that awe inspiring view and all it had meant to her was fading. As the days wore on, she found she was losing sight of that golden sunrise.

"A bit better than the view at Grimauld Place, isn't it?" someone asked, and Hermione turned to find Arthur Weasley standing beside her. She hadn't even heard him approach. She mumbled an indistinct response.

They stood in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts.

"How's Molly?" Hermione finally thought to ask. When Hermione had left the house, Arthur had still been trying to calm Molly down after the shock of Ginny's disappearance.

"She's doing better," Arthur answered quietly, not tearing his gaze from the sunset. "But it's hard for her, you know. What with George still unconscious, with Fred gone, and with Harry…"

"Yes," Hermione said, looking at Arthur. "It must be hard for you too."

Arthur smiled a small, sad smile.

"We eloped during the first war. Did you know that?"

Hermione shook her head.

"We were very young, just out of Hogwarts, but we were very much in love. I thought…I think we both thought, that as long as we were together, everything would be alright.

"All of our children were born under the threat of Voldemort. I still remember the looks we got from people, and the whispers. They all thought we were selfish, bringing so many children into a world torn apart by war, and I suppose we were, but Molly and I, we were determined to keep living our lives, to keep loving, despite what was happening outside our little home.

"But I was terrified. I tried not to let Molly see, but I was terrified all the time. Every moment of every day I spent in terror that something would happen to them, that I wouldn't be able to protect them…"

Arthur's voice faltered slightly, and Hermione suddenly became aware that tears were forming in her eyes.

"The night little Harry…the night Voldemort was…that night…I can't even tell you, I can't possibly explain to you how I felt. We had made it. We were a bit broken, a bit changed, but when I looked around and counted eight heads of red hair, still breathing, still smiling, I felt a fierce, fierce relief, an unmatched sense of joy, that my children, every single one of them, would be free to go on living. They would be free to live their lives, and to keep loving, not only in their homes, but in the world as well. They were free. We were all free.

"And then, in Ron's first year, in your first year, Molly and I got a letter. Ron had been injured attempting to protect that stone from Voldemort. The fear came back stronger than it had been before. Though Voldemort had been stopped again, though we were told he had been kept from regaining a body, I felt as though every ounce of happiness I felt in those ten years of peace had been nothing more than borrowed time. From that moment, I began waiting. I knew the terror would return, and I waited in fear. We had been lucky the first time. We had survived. We had escaped. I knew we wouldn't be so lucky again. Ginny's experience with that diary only cemented that certainty in my mind.

"I raised all of my children to be brave, and to be loyal, and I knew that when war broke out again, every one of them would fight. I knew even then that my family wouldn't stay whole forever.

"As the war progressed, that overwhelming feeling, that we had gotten off lightly in the first war, that we hadn't paid our sacrifice, began to grow within me. I knew we wouldn't be so lucky again. I waited for news that I had lost one of them; that I had failed to protect them."

Arthur grew quiet now, but Hermione knew he wasn't done. After a few moments, he spoke again.

"Fred was our sacrifice. We were so close to the end, but fate, or luck, or God, or whatever you believe, wasn't going to let us off so easy again. Fred…Fred was taken in the final moments of what we thought then was the last battle. I lost a child. It was something I had expected, but I could have never guessed the magnitude of despair that his absence left. My boy, my Fred was gone, but I got through it. I got through it because he was our sacrifice, and I knew he would have gladly taken that role had he been given a choice. Fred was gone but the rest of us would be safe. The war was over. Danger had passed. We were a bit broken, a bit changed, and I knew none of us would ever be quite whole again, but most of us had made it through.

"But fate wasn't done with us yet. Fate still isn't done with us. It seems like everyday we lose something else. Everyday we lose _someone _else.

"It's easy, as everyone starts falling away, to want to just give up. It's easy to just want to go home, or find a new, safe home, and forget about all of this. It's easy to forget why you're even fighting in the first place."

Arthur stopped speaking and Hermione was just about to attempt to offer some sort of comfort through her silent tears, but he held up a hand to silence her.

"There's a reason I've told you this Hermione," he said, looking at her now for the first time. "Even though it would be easier to just give up and go home, to lose hope, it's important to keep fighting. It's important because even after living a life like yours, of little more than war and fighting, we can't lose sight of what matters. We can't lose the determination, even when it seems impossible, to keep fighting for what we know is right. Hope is never gone, Hermione. Never. Even when all seems lost.

"Molly and I eloped. Everyone said we were foolish, but I've never regretted it. Even in that time, we didn't lose sight of what was important. Things are falling away, slowly, and it hurts, but many things remain."

Arthur put an arm around Hermione and looked out at the last sliver of sun slipping behind the horizon.

"There's always something left to fight for, Hermione. Always."

* * *

Diagon Alley was silent. Harry walked slowly through the abandoned street, his footsteps echoing along the cobblestone walkway. He had known that Diagon Alley and other like wizarding communities had been sedated in recent weeks, but this quiet, death-like atmosphere had to be the result of something more.

He raised his eyes to Gringotts and knew immediately what had caused the empty street.

Greyback, or rather, a body that Harry guessed had once belonged to Greyback was strung up to the high overhang of the majestic bank. He couldn't be entirely certain that it was Greyback. The body had been mutilated and appeared to have been drained of blood, making the gashes across his body stand out in stark contrast to his graying skin. His eyes had been torn from their sockets, and his neck appeared to have been broken, hanging limply back, exposing the deep wound that nearly severed his head. He was naked, and his body bore signs of torture far more gruesome than the Cruciatus curse. The wandless Goblins had apparently found more than adequate alternatives to casting that particular curse.

His chest had been ripped open and his ribcage expanded to expose the mangled entrails spilling out in a tangled heap.

His body spun slowly around on the rope from which he hung, revealing his back, which was conspicuously free from the mutilation covering the rest of his body. This was no doubt done in an effort to make the letters carved there stand out clearly.

"Death Eaters Beware."

Harry smirked. This was going to be fun.


	16. A Life without Regret

**A/N:** Two chapters in 24 hours. I think I found the cure for writer's block. I should market it. (But this doesn't mean you shouldn't review the last chapter because I'm always eager to hear what people think of specific chapters.)

A couple of things: When I said I wanted to have this story close to done by the time school starts again, I didn't mean to imply that it's almost finished. There's still quite a bit left. I'm not just going to end it suddenly with a cheapened, misplaced ending.

And to my darling reviewers:

I've never really replied to reviews because I always felt like people who review don't really want a response and I didn't want to clog up all of your inboxes with my replies. But…I love you all (like seriously, I'd marry the first one who asked) and I've started replying to many of them to show my appreciation (and to answer any questions that might have been asked). If replies annoy you, just say so and I won't.

With that (not so brief or necessary) author's note out of the way, let's move on to the story, shall we?

* * *

The Great Hall was in near silence as the students ate their dinner. The only sound Neville could hear was that of their forks lightly scraping against their plates. He sighed inwardly as he stood up slowly and stepped down from the teachers' platform. Voldemort was gone from the school tonight and Neville had to take advantage of his absence.

He walked slowly down the aisle between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, keeping his eyes straight ahead, attempting to block from his sight the image of the robotic students eating their meals. There was no point in looking. The helplessness he felt overwhelmed him whenever he looked upon the students. It was best to just keep on plowing ahead, without thought for the futility of his meager actions against Voldemort, and how few students he had managed to reach.

"Professor Longbottom," a familiar drawl sounded from behind him just as Neville was about to leave the hall. He turned to find an exceptionally haughty looking Draco Malfoy standing before him. "The meal isn't through. Where are you going?"

"To the loo, Professor Malfoy," Neville lied easily. "Is that okay?" He spoke without sarcasm or animosity. He knew better than to antagonize the Deputy Headmaster, Voldemort's right hand man within the school.

"You're sure that's all you're doing?" Malfoy asked suspiciously.

"Of course."

"Right then. Be sure to come right back. Remember that Professor Potter has called a school meeting this evening. He expects the entire faculty to be present."

"Oh, I'd forgotten," Neville said. "In that case, I'm going to run to my office too and grab some parchment to take notes, if that's alright of course."

Malfoy gave him an appraising look, his nose held high in the air, before nodding curtly and turning back to the teachers' platform, his pristine black robes billowing behind him.

Neville left the Great Hall and, as soon as he was out of Malfoy's sight, broke into a run. He had forgotten about Voldemort's meeting, and he didn't have much time.

As he ran, he fingered the two objects he kept in his pocket: An old, fading piece of parchment from his Gran, and a small, fake Galleon. He kept these items with him always. They helped to give him courage. They helped him not to forget.

"I need the place where they are hidden," he mumbled to himself, out of breath, as he passed a particular spot on the seventh floor. He doubled back and repeated himself. On the third pass, a door appeared on what had been a smooth wall. Neville eagerly lunged toward it.

He was greeted by a chorus of "Neville!" and a few "Professor Longbottom!"'s from some of the younger students.

"How are you lot holding up?" he asked, coming into the large room full of hammocks and camp beds, and shutting the door quickly behind him.

"We're great," smiled Jamie Langston, a seventh year. She was the leader of the group of students in hiding. She had been the first to approach Neville, and the first he had shown the room to.

Neville had gotten to know Jamie during his own seventh year at Hogwarts, and her second. He still remembered the first time he had met her. She had been in trouble for something silly, and Allecto Carrow had been readying herself to punish the twelve year old with the Cruciatus Curse in the Great Hall. Neville, watching the exchange from across the hall, had immediately jumped up on the table and started shouting.

"I just got a message from Harry!" he had shouted desperately, just trying to get the attention off Jamie. "He says he stole Voldemort's teddy bear, and now the evil git's lost the will to fight!"

He knew less than a moment later, when the Cruciatus Curse had hit him, that his plan had been successful. In her rage, Carrow had forgotten all about little Jamie Langston and her petty crime.

Neville had done similar things as often as he could before he had himself been forced into hiding under Snape's regime as Headmaster. Now, he couldn't help but notice that many of the students now in hiding were the very same he had once stood up for all those years ago. They had done the same thing for many of the younger students in turn, and were now in hiding to avoid punishment or death at the hands of the new threat.

"Here," Neville said, pulling an apple from his pocket and multiplying it. "It's not much, but it's the best I could do. Have you still been having trouble getting through to Aberforth?"

Jamie nodded. "I don't know why, but the portrait just won't appear. I keep asking the room for a way to get food, but it's not responding."

"I really don't understand," Neville said. "It always worked before."

"Don't worry, Professor," a first year boy named Sam urged. "We'll be fine with these. It's more than enough."

Neville smiled at the brave, foolish little boy. It wasn't every day an eleven year old told Harry Potter to rot in hell and called him the Dark Lord's bitch. He almost hadn't been able to make it to the Room of Requirement before being caught.

Sam had been the fourth student to arrive in the room. Neville had been at first reluctant to hide them. He felt that they'd be better off just keeping their heads down and going along with everything, waiting for the right moment to fight.

Then he had thought about how he would have reacted if someone had given him the same advice when he had been faced with a near identical situation. He would have told them to shove it. Even then, he wasn't about to let others do the fighting for him.

So he did what he could to help those who asked, and some who didn't. It was dangerous, and he knew he'd be caught eventually, but that didn't so much matter to him anymore. He should have been killed when Bellatrix Lestrange went after his parents, but he wasn't. He should have been killed at the Ministry fifth year, but he wasn't. He should have been killed fighting Death Eaters sixth year, but he somehow survived. He should have been killed a thousand times seventh year, and in the final battle, but while many he loved had died, he had escaped death again. He'd faced death more times than he could count, and it didn't seem so scary to him anymore. His time would come, whether tonight or in a hundred years, and when it did, he would greet it proudly. He had done the best he could in his life, and he would just have to trust that it was enough. If it came soon, his only regret would be that he hadn't lived long enough to see this particular war through.

Neville felt a fierce, personal connection to this war. Harry had been his hero. Harry had been his friend. Harry was a large part of the reason Neville had grown into the man he had become. He had always liked to think of himself as, if nothing else, a loyal man, and he had done what he could during the last war to remain loyal to Harry and the others. He would have died for Harry and had indeed tried to, but now…

Now Harry was dead. At least that was how Neville saw it. He knew beyond a doubt that Voldemort was acting through Harry, and hadn't seen a single shred of evidence to show that Harry was still inside there somewhere. He still held out hope, but not much. Harry was gone. His friend was dead. And Neville just hoped he'd be around long enough to avenge his death; to do what Harry would have done.

"I have to go," Neville said now. "They're having a meeting tonight and I shouldn't be late. I'll try to bring more food later."

The group nodded and a few of them shouted goodbyes as Neville left the room. Just as he was pulling the door shut behind him, he heard the young boy Sam speak.

"Professor Longbottom's really brave, isn't he?" he said.

Neville smiled as he quietly shut the door and watched it blend back into the wall.

"I'd wondered where you got to," a voice said happily behind Neville. His heart jumped into this throat.

"This aught to be fun," Malfoy sneered. The door had opened in a random location that just happened to be in the earshot of Draco Malfoy. He had heard. He knew Neville was hiding students.

Neville drew his wand but was immediately disarmed.

"Potter has just arrived," he said. "Let's go say hello, shall we?"

He grabbed Neville's arm forcefully and began dragging him toward the Great Hall.

Harry had been speaking to the room at large when they entered, but stopped mid-sentence.

"What have we here?" he asked.

Draco left Neville standing alone in the center of the hall and approached Harry, whispering something in his ear, no doubt about what Neville had been caught doing.

"Thank you, Draco," Harry said quietly. "Well done. I will take care of it." He dropped his voice even lower so that Neville could barely make out his words. "In another matter, I have business with the Goblins tonight. I will need the students you have chosen for the…eh…field trips ready to leave within the hour."

Draco nodded curtly and Harry descended the platform, making his way purposefully to Neville. Neville could have made a run for it at any point, but he had chosen to stay. He wasn't going to run from Harry Potter.

"Neville," Harry said, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "What are we going to do with you?"

The students, who had been staring directly ahead as they were taught to do, were no longer even pretending. They, as well as the teachers, were all watching the exchange nervously.

"Voldemort," Neville said clearly and loudly. "Would you mind if I spoke with Harry for a moment?"

Harry chuckled.

"Ah Neville," he said, "I had hoped you'd learned to respect your superiors. Unfortunately I was wrong. I have been told you have been caught engaging in illegal activities, expressly forbidden by Educational Decree number four hundred seventy two."

"If you mean I've been hiding children that you would have had killed for standing up to you, then yes, I have been."

"I assure you, Neville, I have no plans to kill any _students_." Harry's emphasis on the last word hung in the air, thick with his implications.

"You can kill me," Neville said after a moment. "But they'll keep fighting. They're stronger than you," he gestured at the students. "They'll keep fighting and they'll win. You can suppress it for a while, but you can't completely stop it. They will win."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "You're more trouble than you're worth. But so brave." His voice was now mocking. "Not brave enough to kill Bellatrix Lestrange, though. That's for sure. All I ever heard growing up was how much you wanted revenge against the witch who took you parents. You were going to kill her. But you couldn't. You never even hit her with a curse. Molly Weasley, a baby popping housewife, managed to do it, but you couldn't. I guess bravery isn't everything."

Neville stood tall and didn't respond.

Harry's expression turned serious again.

"Just tell me where you're hiding them and you will not be harmed."

"Never," Neville hissed in response.

"Maybe…" Harry continued thoughtfully, "maybe I should rethink this. Maybe instead of killing you for your insubordination, I'll send you to be with your parents. How does that sound?"

Neville didn't respond, and was rewarded with the familiar sensation of the complete and devastating pain of the Cruciatus Curse. It seemed unending, and for a few moments, Neville had no doubt that he would end up in a bed, senseless, next to his parents in St. Mungo's. The pain stopped just as abruptly and he found he was on the floor. He hadn't even realized he had fallen. He struggled slowly and painfully to his feet.

"Is that all you've got?" Neville taunted huskily. "Merlin, even that idiotic woman Carrow has more power behind her Cruciatus than that."

"Neville, no!" Professor McGonagall screamed from the platform, but the pain hit again. This time it lasted longer.

Neville again climbed to his feet, laughing.

"Just tell me how to get into the room where they're hiding," Harry said softly, "and I'll let you go."

"If someone had told me," Neville answered through his laughter, "all those years ago that Harry Potter, the boy who told me politely that he hadn't seen my toad on the Hogwarts express was going to kill me, I would have tried to have _them _committed."

Neville waited again for the pain to come but it didn't, so he continued. He was going to go out with as much glory as he could muster.

"But if someone had told me," he stopped laughing and spoke quietly now, "that the boy who finally taught me to disarm an opponent, who was one of the first people to make me feel worthwhile, who I would have given anything to defend, was going to kill me," he dropped his voice to a whisper, "I would have hit them with the worst curses I knew."

Harry laughed. "Things have changed quite a bit, Neville," he said. "You _were_ once quite loyal to me. I don't understand why that loyalty has wavered, but I cannot show you favoritism simply because you are an old friend. Disloyalty must be punished."

"But if someone had told me," Neville continued as though Harry hadn't spoken, "that the boy I watched walk alone into the forest to face his own death, just to keep us safe, the boy who was willing to sacrifice everything, the boy who was my hero, was going to kill me—"

But Neville didn't get to say what he would have done.

"You would be wise to not continue your pointless diatribe," Harry warned.

Neville had never taken orders from Lord Voldemort, and he wasn't about to start now. Something Ron had told him once suddenly came to the forefront of his mind and Neville smiled.

"You're mother was inbred, your father was a Muggle, Voldemort," he said with a grin, putting his hand into his pocket to finger his letter and his coin. "You kill so no one will notice you're just like those you hate. You're pathetic."

A dangerous anger flashed across Harry's face, but Neville just kept smiling, standing tall, meeting Harry's eyes.

"Let this serve as a warning," Harry's voice rang throughout the room as he looked around the hall at the assembled students, "as to what happens to those who disobey."

Neville closed his eyes and raised his head to the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, waiting for what he knew would come. Waiting for what he'd always known would come eventually. This was the life he had been born to, and he had no regret.

"Dumbledore's Army," he whispered.

"_Avada Kedavra_," Harry hissed, and Neville Longbottom fell to the floor. He knew no more.


	17. The Importance of Children's Tales

**IMPORTANT A/N:** The hit count is much higher for chapter sixteen than for fifteen, so I think some of you got confused when I posted two chapters within twelve hours and may have skipped chapter fifteen. You might want to check to make sure you read fifteen.

* * *

Hermione didn't cry when Professor McGonagall sent a Patronus with news of Neville's death. She didn't cry when Lavender, Parvati, Dean, and every other present member of the Order who knew Neville broke down. She didn't cry when Ron looked at her with tearstained cheeks, and she didn't cry when she thought of Neville's brave, hardened face. She didn't cry as she silently climbed the staircase toward her bedroom, and she didn't cry when she thought of Neville urging Harry not to "gib it to 'em" at the Ministry.

But when she thought about Neville, the boy who just couldn't seem to keep track of his toad Trevor, she cried.

She collapsed on the floor in the upstairs hallway, unable to even reach her bedroom. She collapsed and cried her first tears of this war. She had been strong until now; she had been forced to be, but she couldn't hold it in any longer. Neville Longbottom was dead. That sweet little boy with a round face and an unmatched heart had been killed, and he had been killed at the hands of Harry Potter because Hermione had failed to lead the Order to victory.

It was the first time someone from her year at school had been killed in this war that she knew of and, for some reason, it seemed more real, more devastating to her than any of the other deaths that had taken place. It was one thing for older members of the Order to be killed---she had seen enough of that in the last war---but it was another thing entirely to have one of her own killed. It made her feel like soon they would all be killed, just as most of the members of the two original Orders had been. It made her realize fully that they were the new generation of sacrifice, and that they were most likely going to end up the same way as those who came before them.

Hermione heard footsteps on the stairs and tried to regain control of herself, but she couldn't. It was just too much.

"Hermione?" Ron said gently, kneeling down on the floor beside where she lay and placing a hand softly on her arm.

When she didn't answer, he laid down behind her and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. She continued to sob while Ron held her.

Hermione didn't know how much time had passed, but it must have been at least an hour before she could speak.

"Oh, Neville," she said through her now soft tears. "You didn't have to be so brave."

"Of course he did," Ron said a little roughly. "He wouldn't have had it any other way."

Hermione half laughed and half cried. "I suppose your right," she managed. "But it's just…It's just not fair!"

"I know," he soothed as she rolled over to face him. He brushed a strand of her still unruly hair from her eyes and wiped a tear from her cheek. "None of it's fair. But it is what it is, and we have to do with it what we can."

He placed a soft kiss on her forehead and pulled back again to look at her.

"Hermione," he said tentatively, "You left before McGonagall's cat finished the message."

"What else did it say?" she asked, already regretting the time she had wasted in grief.

"He's going after the goblins tonight. He's going to have students and Death Eaters with him. McGonagall said she'd send us word when he was getting ready to leave."

Hermione sighed and climbed to her feet. She had hoped to have some time for sleep tonight, and maybe for some of Molly's cooking.

"Well," she said, straightening her robes and moving toward the staircase, "I guess we'll have to fight."

* * *

Harry paced his office at Hogwarts, wondering if what he had done had been wise. He supposed it would serve well as a warning, but it might also turn some of the less enthusiastic teachers against him. McGonagall was already a nuisance as it was. He didn't want to push her. The fewer deaths of well known and beloved people that could be linked to him, the better.

"Having regrets?" the portrait of Albus Dumbledore asked from behind Harry.

"Of course not," Harry spat. "I did what was necessary."

"I quite agree," Severus Snape added, causing Harry to stop pacing and stare at the portrait.

"It is never wise to allow an opponent who has demonstrated such capabilities to live. Had you let Neville Longbottom live, his foolish Gryffindor bravery may have been the end of you."

"It had nothing to do with his capabilities," Harry retorted. "You know as well as I that Longbottom was hardly a match for a flobberworm, much less for me."

"It is quite a relief to hear you say that," Dumbledore said.

"Is it?" Harry asked disinterested, resuming his pacing.

"Yes. I had wondered whether enough of Harry's qualities had remained in you to give you wisdom in the areas you once underestimated to a near fatal degree. They apparently have not."

Harry turned to face the portrait.

"Longbottom was brave," Harry sneered. "I do not deny that. But bravery would not have been enough to be more than a nuisance to me. So unless you're going to go off about Neville's capability for love, and how it would have created a glowing ray of sunshine to destroy me, your point is invalid. And I don't believe bravery was one of the qualities you mentioned as being overlooked by Voldemort. Love, yes, of course. And if I remember correctly, innocence, house-elves, children's tales…"

Harry trailed off here, remembering something.

"It would not be wise, Tom," Dumbledore said, seemingly reading his thoughts. "The story is just a story. The individual objects exist, yes, but uniting them will not truly make you immortal."

"Was that why you essentially died to get them all?" Harry asked, smirking.

"What would you do with it? You have the two most powerful and useful Hallows already. Who would you bring back? Those you've killed? Or those you've betrayed?"

"I wouldn't necessarily use it," Harry said thoughtfully. "But it would be nice to have the set."

"Tom, I believe you've misunderstood the legend. Remember that I am bound to serve you and am therefore incapable of uttering a falsity to you. The three relics are said to make you the master of Death. That does not directly translate to immortality. The wand, theoretically, enables you to kill anyone you choose. That gives you one aspect of power over death. The cloak allows you to elude those who seek to do you harm. You can kill with the wand, and can keep from being killed with the cloak. But neither of those things can keep loved ones from passing on. The stone enables you to have control over this aspect of Death. The Hallows do not make you immortal, but they give you power over Death in three very precise, and nearly complete ways. Do you see the distinction?"

Harry nodded. "There is a distinction, yes, but an arbitrary one. I believe the bearer of the stone can bring back whomever they choose?"

Dumbledore nodded reluctantly.

"Excellent," Harry said, turning toward the door.

"Harry," Dumbledore called as he did, and Harry turned, surprised at the address.

"You forgot one."

Harry raised an eyebrow in question.

"Qualities Voldemort overlooks. You forgot one."

"Get to the point," Harry said impatiently.

"One of the most important, in fact, in this case at least. You forgot loyalty."

Harry snorted. "You think I underestimate loyalty? I, who know exactly what true loyalty is worth?"

"I think you underestimate the loyalty that lingers still from so long ago, and what will happen when those dying embers are alit once again."

Harry rolled his eyes and walked from the office, heading resolutely for the Forbidden Forest.

* * *

For the first time, the whole of the third Order of the Phoenix were gathered together. They were cramped together in the kitchen, some of them spilling out into the hall, the dining room, and even into one of the bathrooms. The tightly packed house gave Hermione the false impression that their number was larger than it actually was.

Kingsley and Bill were going over possible strategies, but their task was made much harder by the fact that they didn't know anything of Harry's plan, not even where he was planning to attack. They could go on for days about tactics, but all of it was likely to prove useless.

When all the talking was done, a dense silence fell over the house. They all stood in their traveling cloaks, shifting awkwardly on their feet, waiting for word from McGonagall, but no word came.

"Well," Hermione said shakily after a while, "I guess since we're all here, we should say some words for Neville."

"I think that's a good idea," Ron said, and Hermione smiled at him.

Hermione had expected someone to speak up, but when no one did, she realized they were all waiting for her. She took a deep breath and began to speak, not even knowing where she would begin.

"Er…well…Neville was a great man. He…er…did a lot of really…er…good things." This was not going well.

"I remember," she said, feeling a small smile spread across her lips, "in our first year of Hogwarts, when Dumbledore awarded Neville ten house points at the leaving feast, making him the student to beat Slytherin and win the house cup for Gryffindor.

"It was funny, really. He had tried to stop Harry, Ron, and me from stopping Voldemort from getting the Philosopher's Stone, so I had to put the Full Body Bind on him. Dumbledore gave him points for being brave enough to stand up to his friends.

"That was probably Neville's first experience with personal glory, though it seems so small now, after everything…" She faltered here, but when she spoke again her voice was strong.

"Nobody really saw Neville as brave when he was young, but he always was. He fought against Voldemort more times than I can count, and he never gave in. He was one of the bravest people I've known.

"He never really got the glory he deserved, but I think he was okay with that. He had his moment in first year, and he had his moment when he killed Nagini, but he deserved so much more.

"He died fighting. He died fighting for his friends, and I think that's…that's what he would have wanted."

She finished speaking, not really pleased with what she'd said. Neville deserved so much more than any words she could offer, but it was the best she could do.

"Thank you, Neville," she said quietly, and the Order murmured the same.

* * *

After finding the exact spot where he knew it had fallen, after trying every spell he knew, after using every instinct he had to try to sense its presence, Harry found himself on his hands and knees, digging through the underbrush, searching for the last of the Hallows.

An odd sort of tingling had begun in Harry's mind the moment he had set foot in the forest, and it continued now, increased in its intensity. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant sensation, but it wasn't comfortable either. He could feel it even in his teeth, as though he had been electrocuted. He found it difficult to concentrate, as the sensation had created something like a bubble between himself and his surroundings. He felt as though he was deep under water, trying to hold a conversation from the bottom of the lake.

He knew now where it had come from. He knew now the memory he had been unable to recall when he had set foot in the forest the night he met with the Centaurs. The memory which had remained on the edge of his subconscious had come back to him the moment he had set foot on the path to the clearing where Voldemort's army had once sat. It hadn't been a violent revelation, but a smooth transition from forgetfulness to remembrance, as though the memory had always been there. He supposed it must have been. How else would he have been able to remember the stone, what it did, and that he had used it once before, if he didn't actually remember using it?

But he _hadn't_ remembered. Not until tonight, and that knowledge made him more uncomfortable than the memory itself.

The memory made no difference to him. It was irrelevant. Why would he react to it otherwise? He had seen his parents, sure. He had seen the forms of Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, yes. They had accompanied him to what was to be his own death.

His own death…

That was it, he realized now. That was the part of that night that his consciousness had been trying to shield him from. Something inside of him, whether it was Voldemort or his own determination for power, had thought the knowledge that he had once been willing to sacrifice everything, to sacrifice his own life to eradicate the world of a force he now represented, would be enough to dissuade him from his aims.

That particular assumption was foolish. He was fully aware of who he once was. He had no illusions about that particular fact. He remembered with clarity how hard he had fought against Voldemort, and how passionately he had once believed in those things he fought for. He remembered but it made no difference. It wasn't a lack of better judgment that led to his current actions. Conversely, it was precisely his disillusion from such foolishly noble aims that now enabled him to act as he did.

He shook his head as he pawed around on the forest floor, trying to clear from his mind the strange tingling, and to focus on the task at hand. He had to find the stone. Once he found it, everything would be complete. Everything that had held him back to this point would impede him no longer. Finding the stone was all that mattered.

"My Lord," Draco Malfoy's voice sounded uncertainly behind him, but Harry didn't halt his search.

"What, Draco?" he snapped.

"The students are prepared to leave."

"For what?" Harry spat.

"The Goblins, My Lord?" Draco answered quietly. "You asked to have the students ready to leave within the hour. They have been waiting for nearly four."

"Why would I have ordered that, Draco? What do you think we are going to do, launch an attack on a deserted bank at midnight? I don't have time for this. Leave me."

"My Lord?" Draco said hesitantly.

"What?" Harry hissed, finally stopping his search and turning to inflict Draco with a furious stare."

"Will you be going in the morning, then?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Have them ready at eight. Now go!"

Draco turned and left the clearing without another word, but seemed to cast anxious looks at Harry over his shoulder as he went.

Harry waited until Draco had left before resuming his search. It had to be here somewhere. It had to be.

000

The sun had risen fully before Harry even realized dawn was approaching. He had searched every inch of the clearing where he knew the stone to have fallen. He had backtracked and followed the same path again, to be sure he was in the right place. He had searched through the night but been unable to find the stone.

It was only with great reluctance that he abandoned his search and walked slowly back to the castle. He considered putting off his visit with the Goblins, but it wouldn't do to let too much time pass. It wouldn't take long and he could resume his search once they had finished.

Students he knew to have been instructed to accompany him were already beginning to mill around in the Entrance Hall. Harry checked the battered old watch on his wrist to find that he had only twenty minutes before they were scheduled to leave.

He quickened his pace toward his office, barely paying attention to where he was going. His thoughts were completely occupied by the stone.

"Someone must have found it," Harry said to himself as entered his office, absentmindedly cleaning the dirt from his hands and robes with his wand. "Someone must have taken it. I was certain no one had seen where it fell, but they must have. But how could they have known what it was? It would have just appeared as a normal stone."

"Does your scar pain you all the time now, Harry?" Dumbledore asked curiously from his portrait, causing Harry to realize that he had been rubbing his lightning scar furiously as he thought. He lowered his hand slowly before addressing the portrait.

"Have you finally accepted the truth?" Harry asked, ignoring Dumbledore's question. "That is the second time you have called me Harry."

"I have been forced to concede that at least a portion of Harry remains," Dumbledore answered.

"And why is that?"

"Certain characteristics inherent to Harry's being have surfaced in yours. While I am not entirely convinced that Harry is the controlling force, I must acknowledge that he is a rather large presence."

"And what characteristics are those?" Harry asked, slightly amused.

"You are dwelling on finding the Resurrection Stone to distraction, and while the tendency to dwell on relatively irrelevant matters is shared by you both, the particular object impeding on your thoughts and dominating your actions is one Voldemort would barely concern himself with. Harry, on the other hand, would be drawn to it."

"While I don't deny the ultimate conclusion you have drawn from this insight, your logic is faulty. Do you truly believe that I search for the stone for the same reasons I once would have? Do you assume that I will use the stone to restore James and Lily Potter, and perhaps Sirius Black to this world? That is not what drives me."

"Of course not," Dumbledore answered. "But the basic desire to restore the dead to this plain of existence is one borne from Harry's deepest desires. The Hallow one chooses defines one's most basic desires and inherent characteristics. You have chosen to concern yourself with the stone, and therefore, I must assume that enough of Harry is still present to allow his most basic qualities to remain."

"Of course I dwell on the stone, Dumbledore. I already have the wand and the cloak. I do not place the stone above the other relics."

"Perhaps not," Dumbledore answered elusively.

"And your logic is faulty," Harry added, glancing at his watch. "If the Hallow one most desires defines them, then Voldemort would have originally chosen the cloak rather than the wand. He would have chosen to elude death rather than inflict it."

Dumbledore chuckled darkly from his portrait, but didn't answer.

"But of course," Harry said to himself after a moment. "Voldemort saw inflicting death as immortality. He wouldn't need the cloak. But that is irrelevant," Harry finished looking at Dumbledore again.

"Before you leave, Harry, I must implore—"

"You must implore me to reconsider attacking the goblins. I know. Honestly, Dumbledore, if it weren't for the amusing nature of our conversations, I would have already had your portrait removed. These remonstrations grow tiresome."

Without another word, Harry swept from the office. Gringotts would be opening soon, and since the bank held the largest amount of goblins at any one time, it was the only logical place of attack. Subtle attacks on individual goblin families, as Voldemort had done before, were no longer sufficient. He would have to make the goblins, and the rest of the wizarding world, understand what it cost to cross him.


End file.
